Slippery Seduction
by Fireroc9
Summary: Hermione makes her way to the Prefect's Bathroom for an evening of relaxation.  When she arrives, she discovers the room already in use by none other than the Slytherin Prince.  Will she stay or will she go?  AU Hermione/Draco  includes Discussion of rape
1. Chapter 1

A/N As per usual all characters and settings belong to JKR. Thanks for reading.

Hermione slipped out of the Head Girl's room in her favorite plush bathrobe and matching slippers and made her way to the Prefect's Bathroom. After a long evening practicing Arithmantic calculations, she felt she deserved a mini break involving a bubble bath, muggle trash novel, and cold glass of pumpkin juice. She hugged her arms across her chest, concealing the said novel beneath. It wouldn't do to have the "Gryffindor Know-it-all" caught indulging in a guilty pleasure; she'd never hear the end of it from Harry and Ron once the gossip circulated through the castle.

Moving with purpose, she made the final steps through the empty corridor and at last her target was in sight. Quietly, Hermione tucked the novel into her right armpit and removed her wand from the pocket of her robe. She cast a silencing spell on herself and the door, as it was known to make a terrible groaning sound when opened. While she couldn't be sure, Hermione theorized that the noisy door was intentional. The distinctive rumbling baritone groan would alert anyone in the bathroom (who hadn't thought to ward the door) that an intruder was gaining entrance. Alternatively, the sound might also be a signal to Filch or Mrs. Norris that a student was illegally using the room, either after curfew or without privilege to the room.

While Hermione certainly had privilege to use the Prefect's Bathroom, it was considerably later than the curfew hour. She had the ability to leave her room after curfew, provided she had a good reason, with few repercussions. Had she met a teacher or Filch along the way, she most likely could have talked herself out of being sent back to her room sans bath. However, she also didn't particularly like to flaunt her Head Girl status unnecessarily. It was logical not to draw unwanted attention to herself now after her uneventful walk from her room.

Carefully tugging the door open just wide enough to allow her body to slip past, she shuffled into the bathroom. Imagine her surprise when she was enveloped in a dense cloud of steam. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust, and when she took a deep breath she immediately detected the scent of sandalwood and lemon verbena. Slowly, Hermione used her wand to disillusion herself. The bathroom was clearly occupied and although she really wanted a bath, she wasn't about to intrude on someone already using it. That would be awkward, not to mention rude.

She was feeling for the old brass door pull with her left hand, still grasping her wand, when she heard a sigh. Hermione froze. Although she knew she probably couldn't be seen and definitely couldn't be heard, she didn't want to draw attention to herself by opening the door. The water in the swimming pool sized tub splashed against the stone edges and the body immersed within. Again, the contented sigh was repeated when she heard a wet slap directly followed by a cascading sound. Something being plunged into and then lifted from the water?

The sigh had been distinctly masculine. Not terribly deep in pitch, but not approaching female alto range either. It hadn't been breathy but instead rich and thick like melted butterscotch. She turned her head to the left and closed her eyes, focusing on her hearing for more clues as to the mystery man in the bath. She could only hear the faint lapping of the water, probably caused by the slight but regular breathing of the occupant. Opening her eyes, Hermione was resolved to solve the mystery. If it was someone unappealing like Nevile, she could just jam her eyes shut, grope for the handle, and make a quick exit. If it was someone more appealing, perhaps she might take an appreciative peek before making a slightly slower exit.

The steam was conveniently beginning to thin as Hermione formed a quick plan to glimpse the unknown young man. She bent slowly placing her book on the floor so her hands would be unencumbered should she need them. Muttering another quick disillusionment charm, she laid the book outside of the path of the door where it couldn't be stepped on or noticed. If she needed to make a hasty retreat, she could retrieve it later without worry that someone had taken it or worse, ruined it with water damage.

Nearer to the floor the steam was even more dissipated. Here Hermione had her first vantage point of the tub. She could clearly make out a dark green blob covering the face of her mystery. On closer scrutiny, she realized it was a wet flannel; it had probably been the source for some of the splashing she heard just a minute or two before. With his face safely covered, Hermione took in a leisurely scan of the half visible body. Definitely well defined muscles. Probably a six pack hidden beneath the foamy surface of the water. Sculpted, but not overly developed, pecs dotted with dark rose colored nipples. Long arms complete with ropey muscles. The young man was thin, but not excessively so. Hermione compared this upper body to Harry's. He'd taken to changing his shirt in the common room during Quidditch season to impress Ginny and boost his ego. Yup, this body definitely played Quidditch.

Now, were there other defining features that might identify if he played for a house team or just for leisure? Her gaze scanned each section for some idiosyncrasy that would give her the hint she needed to piece the puzzle together. The hands and forearms rested beneath the water so couldn't judge them, and it was difficult to make out height with the foam blocking view of the waist and legs. Finally she let herself scrutinize the mostly covered head of the bather. She had resisted taking in that last bit of information, enjoying the challenge of identifying the young man by body alone.

Although most of the school identified her as the uptight bookworm who was the brains of the Golden Trio, Hermione had privately become a passionate young woman. Of course she devoured her research with abandon, but in the dark of the night after her roommates passed out, Hermione explored her burgeoning sexuality through books, fantasies, and her body. She read everything from _The Joy of Sex_ to _The Flame and the Flower_. She borrowed everything she could find in Hogwarts's library from wizarding world romance fiction (which unsurprisingly was very similar to muggle romance fiction) to health text books.

She mentally undressed her male classmates, surmising their body shapes and types concealed beneath their unflattering robes and standard school uniforms. She even considered what Professor Snape might look like naked. (Hermione decided he would be very thin, but extremely fit as he had to be able to withstand such horrible physical punishment from Voldemort; he wouldn't be much of a spy if he broke every time he was Crucioed or scourged.) It became quite a game to compare her suppositions when she caught her classmates _in flagrante_ in darkened nooks and corners of the castle. Occasionally she was completely taken by surprise. Terry Boot for example had a stellar ass, which Hermione had caught rhythmically jerking against Susan Bones.

Ron, on the other hand, was not all that she had hoped for. Of course he was fit from playing Quidditch, but he was definitely not a lover. Although she had taken much consideration, Hermione decided she wasn't willing to put in the time to mould Ron into one. He was always up for sneaking into an empty classroom for a snog and quick shag and sometimes that was great, but after several months of uncomfortable groping, fumbling, and premature ejaculation she had had enough. He was too embarrassed to tell people why she had really broken up with him; she was sorely frustrated that she didn't have anyone to rebound shag in hopes that she could get to finish during sex at least once.

So, Hermione spent her nights pleasing herself, learning all of the intricacies of her body. Her body became an instrument that she would pluck and strum to perfection as she sought the ever rising crescendo to completion. There was such satisfaction in knowing she could take care of her own needs sexually until she could engage a suitable partner. She envisioned someone who would respond to her body while she responded in kind to their body. Someone who would fulfill her needs to explore her sexual limits; she was curious about bondage, wax play, and role reversal. Ron would've had bugbears if Hermione had produced a leather flogger or strap-on during one of their excursions to the Room of Requirement.

Staring at the stranger and considering his attractive body, she could feel her temperature rise. While she kept the majority of her mind focused on the situation at hand, a part of it wandered into a fantasy pulled straight from the pages of the darker romance novels. Two people meet in a chance encounter that results in hot, satisfying sex. Sometimes it's just a one time thing, and sometimes the couple ends up together. Whatever happens, that one moment of raw need is pure bliss for those two characters.

Suddenly, Hermione shook herself from those thoughts. Here she was, standing (disillusioned and silenced) in the Prefect's Bathroom, spying on some poor unsuspecting sod who's just trying to have a relaxing bath. "Down, Girl!" she mentally berated herself. Her resolve crumbling, she began to inch her hand for her book to make a retreat, all the while wondering if she was some kind of voyeuristic pervert.

Then the figure in the bathtub shifted. A hand reached up from the water. The long, elegant fingers broke the surface and spread apart as the hand was lifted to remove the washcloth. Before Hermione could leave the room, the flannel was snatched away and the face of Draco Malfoy was revealed. An audible gasp escaped her throat, and she was instantly thankful for the silencing spell. Malfoy! Of all of the people to stumble upon in the bath. She hadn't made the connection despite having all of the clues. Quickly Hermione tallied up the notations she had made. If only she had looked closely at his head to begin with she would've noticed the blonde hair. Although now that it was wet, it was much darker in color slicked close to his head similar to the way he wore it when they were first years.

First year. That was such a long time ago for both of them, and so much had changed. The war had made everyone weary and worn, despite the side they had chosen. Draco had to meet the expectations of his family (mainly his father from what Hermione knew), his Slytherin housemates, and even Voldemort. Was he still an elitist prat? Absolutely. But, Hermione could see beyond that and sometimes even excuse his behavior. While Harry and Ron carried their unwavering prejudice and hatred toward Malfoy, she could understand how he was a product of his environment and without exposure to other ways of thinking, of course he would turn out hating muggleborns and taking the Dark Mark in his father's shadow.

Still, he did hate muggleborns and openly insulted Hermione as a "filthy mudblood" every chance he got. After so many years, the insult lost its sting. In fact in Hermione's mind it was kind of sad that Malfoy couldn't make up anything new or better to taunt her. He was intelligent, that was for sure. Of course his potions grades were padded with nepotism, but he was more than competent. His grades rivaled hers in most of their joint classes (although, she still came out on top by several percentages in every case). To have such intellect and such capacity for logic while still preaching the same hate rhetoric his father spit out without question continued to baffle Hermione. How could someone with so much potential remain so blind?

Straightening from her crouched position, Hermione warred with herself. She felt sympathy that he was so sheltered and that it seemed he never had a chance to think a different way. At the same time she was incensed that he was in fact "the enemy." If things did not change soon, there was the very real possibility they would face off on the battlefield. He was lethal with a wand, but so was she. It would be quite a duel. Hermione considered her skills compared with Malfoy's. He was well versed in Dark Magic as he had access to the famed Malfoy library as well as private tutelage with Professor Snape. He was fast and agile, and he appeared to be fearless. Hermione smirked at her last thought.

"Fearless my ass," she chuckled to herself. Every chance he got, Draco Malfoy ran away from a fight, leaving some other poor shmuck to sort out his mess. However, a snake backed into a corner with no place to go is guaranteed to strike. The survival instinct is strong and when flight isn't an option, fight has to kick in. She had no doubt he would fight when push came to shove. But, he would avoid that fight until the last possible minute.

Hermione on the other hand knew that she would be front and center at the beginning of the battle. She would flank Harry with Ron and stare Voldemort in his pale, scaly face. She would use everything she had at her disposal to ensure she survived and that she helped comrades during the fray. Although she didn't have the same background in Dark Magic, she had vast resources. She also had quite a few original spells that no one else knew about, both offensive and defensive spells designed to protect her and disable (permanently, short of death) an attacker. And, Hermione had an ace up her sleeve. She taught herself silent wandless magic.

It had taken the better part of three years, but little by little she had managed to levitate objects and transfigure things. Now she could cast all manner of spells, hexes, and charms without needing to wave her hands or flick her fingers. She merely thought the spell she wanted to perform and it happened. This skill would be invaluable on the battlefield. She could remain in a concealed position while disorienting and taking out opponents. She wouldn't need to sacrifice positioning by yelling a spell that would disclose where she was. Hermione was quite proud of her self-taught skill.

She wondered briefly is Malfoy could perform wandless magic. It wouldn't be difficult to overtake him in the bath. Immobilize him and make him listen to her side of the war. If he couldn't, he would be at her mercy. If he could, that situation could very quickly escalate into a duel. A duel where Malfoy would be soaking wet and naked. A shiver went down Hermione's spine. While she didn't have to like Malfoy, she could hardly deny that he was an attractive man. He had a serious reputation as being quite a lover, though she wasn't sure how much of it was true. After rooming with Pavarti and Lavender for the last six years, Hermione took those kinds of things with a grain of salt. To hear Lavender talk, you might think she's had sex with every boy at school when in fact she's had sex with two of them. And, she didn't even in enjoy it!

Malfoy dropped the flannel into the bubbly water and reached out with the opposite hand to grab a soap bar that was resting nearby. His Dark Mark was clearly visible. It was so clear and detailed against his ivory skin. It only lasted a few seconds, but the image of the mark brought a flicker of fear in Hermione. She shoved it away and refocused her gaze on Malfoy who was now happily scrubbing his torso with the green cloth. Hermione released a portion of her brain to delve into a quick fantasy of joining him in the bath. She would silently step into the water, and he would be shocked that she was suddenly there. Then, he would flip the switch that turned on the Malfoy charm, and he would glide toward her through the water.

Her breath was coming faster now. "I bet it would be incredible. All these years of pent up aggression. We'd probably go at it like hippogriffs." She couldn't stop the mental fantasy from continuing as she stared at Malfoy bathing. Oh the things she could do to his body. That thought turned something inside of Hermione. "What if I could take him? Just absolutely have my way with his body, take my pleasure, and then leave him longing." The idea was appealing. Her, the Gryffindor Princess, defiling the Slytherin Prince with her mudblood saliva and vagina. He would probably be horrified by the whole scenario, undoubtedly in part because he felt pleasure as a natural response to sex.

Hermione liked the irony of the thought. She felt her body tingle. Yes, she was going to do this. Getting her Gryffindor courage up, she straightened her posture and walked closer to the bath. Just as she was reaching the surrounding slate tile, she cast a modified _petrificus totalus_ on Malfoy. Her spell effectively glued him to the bath. His arms were forced back and spread across the edge of the bath. His facial muscles still worked but he was unable to move his head. "What the fuck is going on?" Malfoy yelled to the seemingly empty bathroom.

The steam swirled near the opposite end of the pool, and a female figure materialized in front of his eyes. It only took him a second to identify the woman as Hermione Granger. She was wearing a soft looking grey robe and slippers. "Granger, what the fuck do you think you're doing? You can't just barge in here…"

She cut him off. "Oh yes I can. Particularly since you weren't careful enough to ward the door. I thought I would have a nice relaxing bath, but finding you here I've suddenly got other ideas besides relaxing."

"Well come on in, Granger," Malfoy taunted her. He thought she was bluffing. He would embarrass the hell out of her and she would run away at the mere thought of actually having sex with him. "The water is just right. Since you've seen fit to stick me here, why don't you come sit on my lap and get comfortable." His voice was laden with sexual allure; his eyes smoldered at her; his lips held a small smirk. He waited for the running away part.

"You know, I think I'll take you up on your suggestion." First, she deftly slipped out of her slippers and nudged them further back from the bath's edge. Then she disrobed, revealing a cream colored tank top and black boyshorts. She hadn't dressed for seduction, but she was glad that she had chosen underwear instead of her kitten print flannel pajamas. The smirk slipped from Malfoy's face. His mouth hung open for a second or two, taking in Hermione's careful robe removal and her body. She was the perfect hourglass shape. Her freckled creamy skin was covered with a light sheen from the steam. She was beautiful. "Who knew this is what Granger was packing under those robes?"

But as he scanned her body standing there, he vigorously reminded himself that she might be hot, but she was in fact a hot mudblood. She was so far beneath him on the food chain that having sex with her would be like fucking a house elf. The thought made him sick. Sticking his dick anywhere near that dirty blood was absolutely out of the question. Any minute now, she would admit her bluff and walk away.

Hermione watched the emotions flicker across his face. This was one of the more genius additions to her modified spell. She had initially created it for interrogation scenarios. With a plain _petrificus_, the person couldn't talk or move. Her spell allowed for communication, both verbal and non-verbal. In this situation, it was clear the Malfoy was shook up. He thought she was bluffing with his initial engagement. His purposefully lusty eyes and quirked lips said he was attempting to draw her in to push her away, humiliate her. But, when she removed her robe and stood confidently in her underwear, his schooled expression was lost. He looked shocked which quickly turned to desire and then disgust. She could only guess what kind of rubbish he was telling himself about her sudden bodily revelation. She wouldn't have been far from the mark.

Reaching down, she grasped opposite sides of her hem and slowly pulled her tank top over her head. A strangled cough left Malfoy's throat. He immediately closed his eyes and began coughing to try to conceal his surprise in Hermione's actions. It was her turn to smirk. Clearly, Malfoy was mentally trying to rebuild his mental dam. His eyes remained closed while she remained standing tall in just her panties.

"Holy shit! I can't believe she did that!" Malfoy was confused to say the least. He was sure she had been bluffing, but now her shirt was off, and he could virtually feel the smirk on _her_ lips. He had to recover and quickly. What if she really was going to get into the bath with him? He couldn't move. He had been practicing his wandless magic with Severus, but it hadn't been going well. He couldn't even do a simple spoken _accio_.

He decided he had to go with his initial assessment and hope she would back off. He steeled his mind and opened his eyes. She was now standing with her hands on her hips, chest puffed up like a proud peacock. "Sorry about that, Granger. You gave me a shock there." (Always mask a lie with a solid truth, Severus had told him. Makes an overt lie less likely to be noticed.) "Who knew you had a passible body under there, eh?"

"I did," was her response. She purposefully trailed both hands from her rib cage down the plane of her abs to hook her thumbs into the waist band of her panties. Languorously, she drug them down her legs and tossed them onto the floor by her robe and tank top. She stood for a few seconds so Malfoy could take in her naked form, then very deliberately she reached down for her wand. Hermione pointed the tip at her abdomen and vocally cast a contraceptive charm. Malfoy's face visibly paled.

While he had been admiring her nicely sculpted pubic hair, Malfoy watched Hermione perform the charm he had seen Pansy do each time they were together. (Despite his grand reputation, she was the only woman he had ever had sex with. Not that he was correcting the rumors.) She replaced her wand with her clothes and then gingerly tested the water with the toes of her right foot. Things had gone from bad to really fucking bad. Malfoy was beginning to realize that she was serious. Mentally he was beginning to panic. Was she really going to fuck him? Was she going to touch him all over with her contaminated skin? He just couldn't bring himself to say the word rape. It was humiliating. He was Draco Malfoy: Slytherin Prince, sometimes favored Deatheater, and heir to the Malfoy fortune. If Hermione sodding Granger fucked him here and now, he would take it to his grave. He could never tell a soul that he was, well, abused in such a way.

In the Deatheater world, it was one thing to use a mudblood to fuck and torture and kill for entertainment. It would be totally unforgivable to actually be a victim. There was no love among Deatheaters, and if they found out about this, Malfoy knew they would take his balls. Literally. To be used by a mudblood (especially an incredibly smart, sexy, and talented mudblood like Granger), made him tainted by association. He would be lucky to escape with his life. More likely he would be the entertainment at the next revel, writhing disgustingly on the floor next to the corpse of whoever came before him. At that moment, Draco Malfoy sent out a silent prayer. "Please Gods, don't let anyone find out about this. If this happens, don't let anyone find out."

Satisfied with the water temperature, Hermione sank her foot into the water followed by the other one. She lowered her body into the water fully. Her thick curls wicked the water up toward her scalp, pulling them straighter with the added weight. A contented sigh, not unlike the one that Malfoy had made, escaped through Hermione's lips. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the warm water. "Ah, nothing like a hot bath after a long day, is there?" She slowly opened her eyes and stared at Malfoy. While Hermione slipped into the water, Malfoy composed his face into the picture of nonchalance. Hermione responded with a predatory smile.

Deliberately, she moved through the water and stopped just a foot in front of Malfoy's body. "You know, Malfoy, it's been a long time since I had a good ride. According to the rumor mill, you're relatively gifted. Perhaps you won't mind if I test out the validity of the rumor?"

Inwardly Malfoy rejoiced. He could turn this situation to his advantage in true Slytherin fashion if he could get her to release the spell. He was definitely stronger than her, so overpowering her would be no problem. If he could dominate her, there would be no problem with giving her the ride of a life time. He'd fuck her so hard; she'd wish she was dead. He could absolutely take advantage of her and then discard without a second thought. "This could work." Suddenly, things were looking up.

"Granger," he said in his most seductive tone. The words came out like dripping honey laced with a little bit of arsenic for danger. "I will gladly show you how gifted I am. Come on over here and feel just how gifted." Malfoy knew he couldn't appeal to being let loose straight away. He needed to lure her in and make her feel like he was an active, willing participant in this. Sex worked better with partners who were able to reciprocate with each other. Surely, she knew that. He figured he'd actually need to coax her into coming closer, let alone putting her hand on his cock at first invitation. Of course he was shocked when Hermione drifted through the water to stop just between his knees.

Reaching out with her sure right hand and locking eyes with Malfoy, she gave the length of his penis a firm but gentle caress. Malfoy's eyes closed of their own accord and a hiss forced through his teeth. Although he was nearly fully erect by the time she was naked, he felt like he was as rigid as a steel beam now. All thoughts of humiliation, dirty blood, and rape fled Malfoy's mind. If she continued to touch him like this, with just the right amount of pressure and force, she could have her way with him. He wouldn't even complain. Of course no one could ever know, but it would be worth it if things kept up like that. Hermione broke his reverie.

"Well, I can certainly feel how you might be considered gifted, but my feeling has always been that being truly gifted is more than the size of your cock. I'll need proof." Afterall, Ron had a good sized cock, but he basically spent two minutes pistoning it in and out of her at a frantic, uncoordinated pace before coming and going soft inside of her. A big cock does not a good lover make, ahthankyouverymuch. Hermione continued to stroke Malfoy into the perhaps the hardest erection of his life. "We've spent all these years fighting with each other," she whispered in his ear. "Let's see if we can't put all of the energy to better use." Without any further discussion, she straddled his leg, her bum resting just on his knee. In sync with the rhythm she had set with her hand, she shifted her pelvis back and forth over his leg, lightly stimulating her clit.

Again, Malfoy could hardly believe what was happening. He had no idea that Hermione was so sexy, so take charge. Everytime he thought she would back down, she met his challenge and then some. A few minutes ago she had caught him unaware in the middle of a bath and now she was giving him an incredible handjob while writhing against his legs. He was starting to wonder if he had fallen asleep in the tub and was dreaming. This could not be happening to him. This could not be real.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her and pull her close to his body. He wanted to feel her hard nipples rub against his chest and stimulate his own. He wanted to return the favor she was doing to him and sink his fingers inside her delicious warmth and watch her become boneless under his ministrations. "Granger," he whispered in a husky voice. The seductive honey replaced by raw need. "Release the spell so I can touch you, too. Let me touch you."

"Not yet," she whispered back. Her voice equally has rough as his at this point. She let her warm breath curl around his ear and then she reached out with the tip of her tongue to caress the shell of it. She was rewarded with a deep moan. Smiling, she drug her nose across his cheek and nuzzled against his nose. Slowly, Malfoy's eyes opened and he found himself falling headlong into deep pools of chocolate flecked with hazelnut. He felt warmth in the pit of his stomach. Hermione pulled her nose away from Malfoy's face and silently asked the question with her eyes: "do you want to do this?"


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: All characters and settings belong to JKR. I own nothing.

_Slowly, Malfoy's eyes opened and he found himself falling headlong into deep pools of chocolate flecked with hazelnut. He felt warmth in the pit of his stomach. Hermione pulled her nose away from Malfoy's face and silently asked the question with her eyes: "do you want to do this?"_

It seemed like an endless moment to Hermione. While she may have initially planned to just take her pleasure from Malfoy's body regardless of his consent, she found in the moment her morals kicked in. Oh she could take him alright, but she would need him to agree first. There were no rules in sexual engagement that said both partners had to be satisfied. After all she didn't have enough fingers to count how many times she felt disappointed during sex. But, in the long run it just wasn't in her character to force herself on him.

It took Malfoy a full ten seconds to tear his attention away from her eyes and understand what was happening. "She's giving me an out," he thought. His eyes widened slightly, but otherwise there was no other facial reaction to his discovery. Inside, however, there was a torrent of emotions at play. He knew if the situation had been reversed, he probably would not be so giving. Why was she even bothering? Again, if the circumstance was reversed, this would make the sweetest kind of revenge. To reduce her to a sobbing, moaning mess under his body would strip her down to bare essentials. He wouldn't have given her any other option but to give in to him. So why was she silently questioning him? At that moment, Malfoy knew that she was holding the high cards. She didn't have to let him choose. And then it occurred to him, "Maybe this is the difference?"

The thought quickly fled his mind as he felt Hermione aggressively stroke his cock. He closed his eyes and a long, breathy, "yeeeesssssss" hissed from his mouth. That was all the consent that Hermione needed. She slowly moved her face back to his and again grazed her nose across the plain of his cheek. She nipped at the delicate skin just below his ear and then began to gently suckle his neck. As she carefully marked his pale, creamy skin she moved her body to straddle both of his legs. With her hand still holding his hardness, Hermione lightly brushed the tip down her sensitive slit. Malfoy cried out at the feeling while she suppressed a moan.

She repeated the motion, just lightly brushing their bodies together heightening the sensation and stimulation of the moment. Inside, Malfoy worked harder than ever to throw off the spell that continued to hold him to the bath. It was a testament to the strength of Hermione's magic that her spell was still so potent, despite her attention and focus being drawn elsewhere. He was absolutely aching to buck his hips in rhythm with her movements and let his head drop to her shoulder. In fact he was surprised by just how much he wanted to be an active participant in this moment. He reasoned with himself that he would want to take part in sex with anyone under these circumstances. It could be Millie Bullstrode, and he would still want to move with her. But, as soon as the image of Millie's mannish face scrunched in delight crossed his mind's eye, Malfoy knew it wasn't true. It was Hermione here in this moment that he desperately wanted to touch.

"Gods, Granger. Let me loose so I can make you feel like this. Please, I want to feel you." He was approaching begging, and he couldn't care less. If he didn't get to touch her, he was going to go mad. Hermione was absolutely overloading him with stimulation. The feeling of his head dragging over her moist, swollen clit compounded with her lips, teeth, and tongue working the skin of his neck and collarbone was too much. He needed to diffuse all of the feelings by focusing on pleasuring her.

Hermione smiled against his neck. Big bad Draco Malfoy was losing it right under her. This was a memory she would enjoy for the rest of her life. The boy who had taken pleasure in bullying her every day possible was begging her to let him touch her. He was frustrated by feeling so much pleasure at her hands. "So I can make you feel like this," was what he said. He wanted to prove to her that he was every bit the lover the rumors made him out to be. He wanted to show her he could make her feel things, too. "Silly, Malfoy," she thought. "This is my show tonight."

Slowly, she eased herself forward on his lap so that their entire torsos were touching. His erection was trapped against her mons and stomach. He sighed. She arched her back to make the contact more pronounced, and then she consciously rubbed her breasts across his muscular chest. She lifted her body slowly, allowing her breasts to travel the length of his torso, neck, and finally whisper past his ear. As her whole body shifted, she pushed her hips forward so that Malfoy's impossibly hard prick would push deliciously against her sex. She thrust slightly just as it skimmed her entrance.

On the way back down, she tilted her chest so that her nipple trailed down his face. Although he kept his eyes closed, he could feel her pebbled nipple straying closer to his mouth. While he couldn't move his head, Malfoy could use his tongue which slid from between his lips and left a hot trail along the side of Hermione's breast. This time he was rewarded with a deep moan rumbling from deep in her chest.

She was caught by surprise to say the least. The silken tongue curling around the side of her breast was indescribably good. In her experiences with Ron, he had always just mashed her tits with his hands, roughly tweaking her nipples in a decidedly uncomfortable way. The few times he had put his mouth on her, she felt almost instantly turned off by the way he slobbered on them. Now, she decided to see how Malfoy's skills measured up; although, she was confident that Anyone could do a much better job than Ron. Hermione maneuvered her left breast to just hover in front of the soft pink lips she was staring at.

Feeling that Hermione had stopped moving, Malfoy slowly opened his eyes. All he could see was the expanse of breast. Her nipple was peaked and significantly darker than the pink areola. He flicked his tongue out, just grazing the end of her stiffened point. Again he repeated the action auditing a little squeal from Hermione. He let his eyes drift up from her breast to her face. Her head had dropped to the side, and her eyes were closed. Her lips were curled in a lazy smile. Apparently he was doing something right. Refocusing on the job literally in front of him, he slowly made lazy circles around her nipple before drawing his tongue back in his mouth. Before she could protest the loss of his moist, soft tongue, he blew on her skin and her nipple hardened further. She hummed in appreciation. Malfoy couldn't help it; he smirked.

Diligently, he worked his tongue against her, touching every part of skin his limited mobility could reach. Hermione eventually allowed her body to drift forward a few inches, and he enveloped her whole nipple in his warm mouth. Hermione's reaction was to grind her body against his. He had almost forgotten that his penis was held against her core, and he would've jerked if the spell had allowed for it. They both sighed at the renewed friction between them.

Hermione, too, was reminded of the proximity of their organs. While she was thoroughly enjoying Malfoy's gifted tongue, she was extremely ready to move along. Again, she arched her back. Her nipple escaped Malfoy's mouth with a pop, and she sensuously rearranged her body in his lap. Taking great care, she ran her slickness against the length of his shaft. A deep, breathy moan fled his wetted lips as his eyes flickered shut. Taking that as her signal to continue advancing, she confidently reached between them and once again rubbed his swollen head against her eagerly waiting vagina. She poised him at her opening and held there. Hermione looked at Malfoy's face and willed his eyes to open. She wanted to see the look on his face as her hungry body consumed his cock.

The sensation was almost too much for him. Feeling her manipulate his dick against her moist body sent electric shocks through his groin and into his body. He was so ready, but he was totally at Hermione's mercy. He still couldn't move, and so short of verbally begging her to relieve him, he just had to wait for her to make her decision. Once again he felt that she had stopped moving. Slowly, Malfoy opened his eyes. This time his gaze fell on her face instead of the landscape of her breast. He wasn't surprised by the heat and passion in her eyes, but he was surprised by the tenderness he also found in them. Something soft and telling smoldered behind her lust.

Malfoy's surprise was evident in his facial features. What he was surprised by, Hermione couldn't say. She searched his face for clues, but found none. She saw her own lust reflected in his eyes, as well as something else. Something she couldn't quite decipher. Satisfied that they were holding eye contact, she shifted her pelvis and gently moved his penis to press against her opening, and then slowly and with great control sank down.

The resistance they felt from the water as her vagina enveloped his hardness heightened their experience. While their eyes squinted at the intense pleasure they were feeling, they never closed them completely so they had clear views of each other's faces. They were mirror images with their mouths agape and cheeks flushed. And as Hermione finished her descent and then nestled in the cradle of his pelvis, both of their eyes widened and stared. The moment was indescribable, but it was fleeting as Hermione didn't linger. She slowly lifted herself, squeezing her muscles as she went and gripping Malfoy's prick.

"Fuck!" he muttered. He couldn't help it. If he thought she had been driving him mad before, it was nothing compared to this. Her slow, measured movements and internal caresses were absolutely setting him on fire. Malfoy gave into the sensations flooding his body; he shut his eyes and took a deep breath.

It never felt like this with Pansy. From their first time together, it was always a frenzied coupling. During fifth year, they had met in the early hours in the morning in the Slytherin common room. Everyone else was in bed, and there they were sitting on the couch. Pansy was venting about some inane thing, and he was frustrated that he had received a dressing down from Severus (away from prying eyes of course) for nearly causing a serious accident during potions. One minute they were talking, the next Pansy was sitting on top of his lap sucking his lips off. He went with it. They scrambled back to her bed, ripped and yanked at clothing until they were mostly naked, and went like mad for about five minutes.

Since then they had become casual partners, calling on each other when they were stressed or just in the mood. But every time he and Pansy were together, it was fast and furious and relatively unemotional. They didn't particularly like each other, but they didn't hate each other. They were fixtures in each other's lives from their early childhood. They just were. Each time they finished shagging, they got dressed and went about their business. They never stayed a whole night together. They didn't talk about the arrangement they had or how the actual sex was.

In that moment, Malfoy knew there was something different about being with Hermione. He didn't have a great deal of experience with other women, and truthfully he and Pansy weren't very adventurous. He had never experienced complete surrender before. At the beginning of this experience, he was absolutely freaking out. He was afraid of the repercussions he would face if people found out a mudblood had defiled him. He was afraid she would taint him somehow. But that had all evaporated the second her warm hand encircled his cock. He gave in to her totally. He was frustrated by not being able to touch her in return, but he wasn't upset that things had progressed this far. In fact he was in awe of the power and strength Hermione was exuding. She was taking what she needed from him. It was incredibly sexy.

Hermione was trying to come up with adjectives to describe the way she was feeling. Nothing came close. Not amazing. Not incredible. Not fulfilled. There were no words. It was as if she entered a place where all of her intelligence, all of her capacity for language and learning had disappeared. All she could do was give into her body and seek the things it was asking for. When her body wanted more friction, she tilted her pelvis further for more. When she wanted to feel that luscious ache deep inside, she thrusted harder against Malfoy so he went deeper. When she was nearing her orgasm, she moved faster, chasing the feeling.

Every time Hermione changed position, every time she changed rhythm, Malfoy felt like his world was exploding. Concentrating on Hermione, he saw her eyes close and her head tilt back. She was getting close. She leaned her body back and braced herself with a hand on each one of his knees for support. As she moved faster, she added in a forward thrust to brush her clit on his pubic bone. He wasn't sure how he managed to hold off his own orgasm, but he knew that he didn't want this to end too quickly. It was likely this would never happen again. It became a point of pride for Malfoy that Hermione "finish first." He knew he would come as soon as she did.

And then, Hermione felt the delicious toe curling sensation she had waited for. She bit her bottom lip as every muscle in her body flexed and just let go. She fell forward, boneless onto Malfoy's shoulder and for the first time embraced him. Hermione also stilled in his lap, holding him inside of her and feeling his warmth. She exhaled a deep sigh of relief. "Finally," she thought. In one swift move, she detached herself from the hug she found herself giving Malfoy and extricated herself from his lap. Malfoy's erection twitched and bobbed in the water as she scooted off of his lap.

At first he thought she was moving in order to change her position. Then, when he saw that she had backed up but was still facing him, he thought she might release her spell and let him finally touch and pleasure her in return. With a coy smile playing on her lips, Hermione continued to back away from him. He watched as she climbed out of the opposite end of the bath and reached for her wand.

Hermione performed a quick drying spell and then reached for her grey robe. "What the hell are you doing?" Malfoy's voice was loud and clear from across the length of the bath. "You can't leave me like this."

"Actually, I can. It's nothing personal, Malfoy. I had a great time, and you're certainly more than adequate as a sex toy." And with that, she slipped on her matching slippers and disillusioned herself. Hermione quietly made her way to the door of the Prefect's Bathroom, stopping briefly to stoop down and pick up the book she had initially intended to read. Just before she slipped through the door, she released the _petrificus_ spell holding Malfoy to the bath.

Malfoy felt the spell dissipate, and as soon as he could move his arms, he reached down for his throbbing erection with both hands. It only took a minute or two before he found his release, sending his sperm into the bubbly bath water. After a few minutes of rest, he tentatively began moving his body. He wasn't surprised to find that he was a little stiff. Over an hour had gone by since Hermione had "glued" him to the bath. Finally, after he had full feeling in his legs again, Malfoy turned on the bench seat and reached for his wand. He _evanescoed_ the water and cast a drying charm on his body. Pulling his weary body from the tub, he made his way over to his pile of clothes.

While he pulled on his Slytherin green pajama bottoms and grey waffle shirt, he began to plot. Hermione would pay. It was that simple. She couldn't just use him that way. She couldn't just ride him within an inch of his life and then disappear. Hermione was going to get her comeuppance. As Malfoy left the Prefect's Bathroom and headed for the dungeons, a plan was forming. A very cunning plan.


	3. Chapter 3

_While he pulled on his Slytherin green pajama bottoms and grey waffle shirt, he began to plot. Hermione would pay. It was that simple. She couldn't just use him that way. She couldn't just ride him within an inch of his life and then disappear. Hermione was going to get her comeuppance. As Malfoy left the Prefect's Bathroom and headed for the dungeons, a plan was forming. A very cunning plan._

On the walk back to his Head Boy's room, Malfoy pondered various ways to take revenge on Hermione Granger. At the beginning of his journey, the ideas were of swift and somewhat violent retribution. He imagined pulling her into dark alcoves and raping her within an inch of her life. He thought of booby trapped corridors where she would quickly find herself bound and gagged (and naked, of course), just waiting for him to come along and not rescue her. There were even more elaborate thoughts of apparating her to Malfoy Manor (which had a rather nice set of dungeons) while the students had a Hogsmead visit.

Although these whimsies were entertaining, Malfoy dismissed them all quickly. While he was furious at being used and duped, he wasn't foolish enough to believe that he could physically harm Granger. No, that would not be possible. The Gryffindor Golden Girl would be protected or missed if she was hurt or abducted. He needed something more in keeping with Slytherin doctrine. He needed to be stealthy and slow brewing in his execution. But first, before any major plans could be made, Malfoy needed a goal.

At first he was content to settle with her utter humiliation. But, after giving it some thought, he wasn't sure how easy it would be to humiliate her. After all, she had willingly stripped down in front of him and then proceeded to fuck his brains out. Also, Malfoy wasn't keen on everyone discovering that anything transpired between them in the Prefect's Bathroom. Humiliation is one of those things that almost always is best done publicly. If he attempted to embarrass her in front of the student body, he severely compromised the secrecy of their transaction. Many of his Slytherin classmates had one foot in the Death Eater Camp, and that would just not be good quidditch.

No, humiliation would not do as the major goal. It would make for a nice additive, but it couldn't be the sole focus of his planning. He thought about "teaching her a lesson" as his general goal. Again, there was a risk of exposure if the plotting deemed some sort of publicity. If he could plot around that it might be workable, but he also knew that Granger had no qualms about using primitive mudblood fist fighting to deal with a situation. Not only did she seem to have no problem using her fists, she was extraordinarily quick with her wand. Privately, Malfoy occasionally had a fleeting worry that he might have to face her on the battle field when the Final Battle came. As the escapade in the Prefect's Bathroom showed, she had a few things hiding up her sleeves. Oh, he was good, and he was also confident that he could best her but it didn't mean he wanted to test that confidence.

Just as Malfoy approached the portrait of the Slytherin alumnus that guarded his door, it came to him. He would seduce her and leave her wanting. Ultimately, his rejection would both humiliate her as well as teach her lesson. It was unwise to mess with Draco Malfoy, and she would feel the sting from his dismissal after she was drawn in. It wasn't a particularly original plan, and certainly not as flashy as an abduction to Malfoy Manor's dungeons, but it would be effective.

Once the decision was made, the details fell into place easily. He would stop calling her "mudblood" in public, although he wouldn't necessarily be cordial to her. He would catch her eyes and give her a hot, passionate look before turning away. He would attempt to make extremely discreet physical contact with her. A few instances of brushing her hand or neck on the way into a classroom and standing uncomfortably close to her when possible would surely pave the way for the next phase.

Once he felt sure her interest was piqued, he would begin subtly contacting her. She would find notes in her text books that would be unmistakably from him. These notes, of course, would disintegrate just after reading to preserve his anonymity. He would use carefully crafted charms to whisper (or softly moan or stiffly command) things in her ears. Finally, he would use legilimancy to import explicit images into her mind's eye. She would relive this night through his memories and would be drawn into his internal frenzied desire to touch her in return while bound to the bath.

Finally, once she returned his passionate glances and responded to the notes, he would set up a time to meet with her. The possible meeting places were endless. Of course there was the poetic justice of the Prefect's Bathroom, but the Room of Requirement, astronomy tower, and his own room would also be suitable places for him to enact his revenge. Granger would be compelled to come, in more than one way, and would accept his invitation. From there he would coax her clothing off and when she least expected it, he would figuratively strike. When they arrived at that moment, he could decide whether or not to fuck her or simply to walk out on her (after delivering a neatly prepared speech about how she is inferior and how she used the wrong man for a sex toy). The exact final moment would be a surprise for both of them. It would be more fun that way.

Malfoy, now safely ensconced in his room, made his way to his large, comfortable bed. As per usual, he took off his clothes and settled underneath the warm bedclothes. Yes, Hermione Granger was going to get what was coming to her. A sleepy smile curled around his lips. He couldn't wait to have her writhing in ecstasy only to walk away. His mind drifted unwittingly to the image of Hermione arching sensually against his body as she rocked herself against his leg. "Damn!" he thought as he felt himself grow hard. "This is not supposed to happen."

He tried to rationalize his physical reaction to the memory. It was sexy and sensual. She was moving with such slow abandon, using him to increase her pleasure. He was a red blooded wizard for gods' sakes. Most wizards would be hard pressed (ahem) to not have a reaction to this kind of scene. Take Granger's face out of the equation and you were left with a hot witch's body getting off. It was simple biology when it came right down to it. Malfoy decided he would deal with an extra erection or two and call on Pansy more often to deal with the excessive sexual tension.

Willing his erection away with images of Snape in his underpants and Millie Bullstrode eating at the Slytherin table, Malfoy drifted into a peaceful sleep. It was dreamless for the most part, save a few flashes of soft brown eyes and plump pink nipples. When he awoke, it didn't pass by his attention that he didn't have any nightmares. Malfoy had been plagued with horrorific night terrors since taking the Dark Mark over the summer; this was the first time he had slept through the night.

Hermione walked back to her room from the Prefect's Bathroom in a blissful haze. She felt amazing – like she was walking 15 feet in the air and the oxygen was a little thin. While her body felt totally relaxed and at ease, her mind was like a tranquil pond. Typically, her thoughts cascaded into each other like the sections of a chaotic symphony. Her thoughts fought for dominance while others skirted around the edges of consciousness, hoping to be recognized. Her mind was very rarely peaceful. There was always something that needed her mental attention. Her studies, Ron and Harry, her lists and time tables, solutions to probable problems the trio would face in the future. The chatter in her brain never stopped and was usually only subdued to a dull roar just before she went to sleep.

By the time she made it back to her room, she was practically asleep. Her relaxed body and mind gave her the opportunity to just fall into bed and pass out. In fact this was the first time since Hermione came to Hogwarts that she actually laid in her bed and fell straight to sleep. When it came to bedtime rituals, Hermione had a pretty strict one. When she was still in Gryffindor Tower with Lavender and Pavarti, she had to get into bed for lights out when they did. Studying in the common room was often impossible, if only because Harry and Ron were invariably asking her to "look over" (i.e. write) their essays. It was much more comfortable to study at the small desk next to her bed.

Between and 10 and 11 the girls would get ready for bed. When Hermione climbed into her bed and drew the curtains, she first cast a strong silencing spell. She would conjure a soft blue flame next. Similar to the flame she carried to her earliest quidditch matches in a little jar, the blue flame gave a soft, pleasant glow inside her little haven. It wasn't bright enough to shine through the curtains and disturb her roommates, but it was more than enough for her to read and write by. The playful little flame actually clung to the bed curtains and circled around the bed like a blue halo.

Every time Hermione cast this spell, she felt joy at seeing how amazing magic was in its simplest forms. A flame, by all rights and most accounts, should burn a textile to cinders. But here was a fire, a blue fire indicating that the heat intensity was high, that gave off little heat and didn't travel across the fabric consuming it as it went. It stayed exactly where Hermione directed it to and burned until she put it out. Magic was nothing short of a miracle.

When the flame was placed to her satisfaction and the space well lit, Hermione then arranged her work in front of her. She worked on essays first, then general homework, then reading and note taking for the following week's classes. Frequently she found herself far ahead of her classmates in her work preparation. She had learned early on that many of her peers knew things implicitly about magic because they had grown up seeing their parents use it and explain it. As a muggle born witch, it was up to her to catch up to her classmates as Hogwarts didn't offer a remedial magic course. She felt as though she had to read twice as much just to stay on the same quidditch pitch. While her friends (and enemies) called her the brightest witch of their age, she always felt like she was running to catch up.

No one was surprised when she became Head Girl. In fact it was expected. Still, Hermione had been excited to receive her badge with her letter that summer. She had so many things she hoped to implement at Hogwarts. She wanted to start more clubs and student organizations. It had been so refreshing and exhilarating to be a member of the D.A. What if students could have exploding snap tournaments? Or, what if they could have more activities to foster inter-house unity?

These last few years had shown her the allies and enemies come in the most unexpected places. While it was true that many Slytherin students, Malfoy included, had a vested interest in Voldemort's future, there were still a fair number who were teetering on the fence or who were opposed to his plans. Slytherins by tradition liked power and wealth. If Voldemort came to power then they would have to relinquish significant portions of both, and for many old pure blood families that was unacceptable.

Some of Hermione's plans were received enthusiastically. Professor McGonagall was especially pleased by her proposed weekly tutoring sessions for first year muggle borns and monthly muggle board game evening. Some of her other plans, like the mandatory bi-weekly "knowledge check" quizzes for each discipline, were not as well received. Still, she was pleased that a few of her suggestions were taken on board for further consideration or were planned to be executed after Christmas break. She was really able to make a difference as Head Girl.

Of course becoming Head Girl meant that Hermione's mind had to make way for all of these new plans and ideas, as well as the tasks that came with the position. She and her co-head were in charge of scheduling all of the prefect's rounds, organizing the student body for special trips like the Hogsmead visits, as well as helping to keep general order in the castle. In addition to her meticulous study plans, becoming Head Girl took up a significant portion of brain power. While she was still housed in the Gryffindor Dormitory, she was very strict about turning in by 1AM every school night. Although she always felt she had more in her, Hermione was also aware that she would do herself no good by overtaxing herself. Sleep was a key ingredient in getting her brain to function at full capacity.

When she moved into the Head Girl's room, Hermione relished having a space totally her own. The room was quite large, and the castle had furnished her with a good sized desk and several bookshelves that were perfect for her study habits. She also had a bigger bed, as well as a comfortable lounge section by the fire place. During her first nights back, she fully indulged in the space, staying up until 3 or 4 in the morning working on Arithmantic calculations to use in conjunction with Potions. By the time school was in full swing, her 1AM self-imposed curfew was pushed back further and further. Sleep was quickly becoming a luxury rather than necessity.

Sleep. Gorgeous, delicious sleep. Hermione didn't think she had ever slept so deeply or awoken so refreshed. She had been sprawled across the bed with the covers twisted every which way around her when her eyes blinked open. The relaxation she felt the night before had settled into her bones during the night. She hadn't felt so organized and focused first thing in the morning since the beginning of summer hols. Rolling over to get out of bed, Hermione felt the enjoyable twinge between her legs that reminded her of the previous evening's exploits. A smiled curled onto her face. Perhaps that was what she had needed all along. Sex with no (or at the least very few) strings attached resulting in a delectable orgasm and absolutely incredible relaxation.

While she showered and readied herself for the day, she considered the repercussions of her night with Malfoy. Oh, she knew there would be some kind of backlash on his part. He would feel the need to "get even." But, perhaps she could turn that to her own advantage. As she exited the Head Girl's room to head for the Great Hall for breakfast, a plan was forming. A very cunning plan.

Severus Snape was an insomniac. He prowled the castle until the early hours of the morning, attempting to clear his mind and find a little peace in his otherwise dark and hectic world. When you served two masters, there was little chance for rest. Falling asleep without a Dreamless Sleep potion (which unfortunately was highly addictive) was sure to result in horrific nightmares. It also left one's mind and body vulnerable to attacks. Yes, for Professor Snape it was often better to forego sleep, so he wandered the castle.

After the midnight hour there were usually few students to catch after curfew. It was quiet, save the portraits that snored or the ghosts that chatted lightly as they hovered here and there. This was perhaps the time when he allowed himself to simply just be. No reputation to uphold. No burden as the silent savior of the wizarding world. No burden as a member of Voldemort's Inner Circle. Just time to be Severus Snape.

Professor Snape was extremely quick at concealing his position after years of honing his reflexes as a spy. He found himself exercising his talent late one night when he caught sight of a lighted wand tip coming down the corridor. It didn't float very high, so it was likely a student. It wasn't low enough to be Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout never took night rounds in the castle, so he quickly deduced someone was breaking curfew. Silently fading into the shadows, Professor Snape fixed his trademark scowl on his face and waited for his victim.

Just as he was about to glide into the middle of the corridor and swoop down on his prey, he took note of who exactly was out of bed. Imagine his surprise when he took in the sight of Hermione Granger with a satisfied, sleepy smile affixed to her lips doddering along toward the Head Girl's room. He remained where he was and let her pass by without a word. "Well, this is a development," he thought to himself.

Although he put on an excellent performance that lead everyone to believe he didn't care about the students at Hogwarts (or more precisely that he didn't care about their personal lives), he knew every piece of gossip and rumor that spread through the halls. Again, his experiences as a spy taught him that the most valuable pieces of information could come from the most unlikely source. The majority of the students were from wizarding families, which meant that they could filter information from their parents through the proverbial grapevine. It sometimes paid to have one's finger to the social pulse.

He knew the Hermione had been in a relationship with Ron and that they had suffered a nasty break up. The widely accepted rumor – which Ron did everything to squash and Hermione refused to comment on – was that Weasley was abysmal in bed and Granger had basically told him to sod off. Their individual reactions to the rumor confirmed its truth. Now, here was Hermione Granger practically floating down the corridor looking absolutely freshly fucked.

While many of the other professors preferred to bury their heads in the sand to their student's sexual exploits, Professor Snape took a practical approach, teaching them to brew contraceptive potions in their Fourth Year. He also included several charms in the lecture, being sure to emphasize that "foolish wand waving" would be adequate for preventing pregnancy but a potion was guaranteed (if brewed properly) to work. Yes, the castle wards had a contraceptive shield built into them, but as Hogwarts had no formal sex education, it paid to provide the students with the proper tools to cope with part of their lives as sexual beings. Miss Granger was one of those students who put any tools she was given to use when it was time to. He would've laid a few galleons that she had remembered at the least a charm. If it was a planned encounter, she would've brewed a medi-witch grade potion.

But, judging by her trip back to her room, it appeared that it had not been planned. Professor Snape quickly put his problem solving mind to work. Although she didn't appear to be wet, she was wearing her bath robe and slippers. She was also coming from the direction of the Prefect's Bathroom. He felt confident in saying the liaison had happened there. If it had been another Gryffindor, chances are they'd be walking together as the tower was in the general direction of her room. That left three other houses. If it was the Prefect's Bathroom, that left only the students who had the password; password "theft" wasn't as rampant as one might think and thanks to a weekly change of the password for the bathroom, it was probably another prefect. He quickly went down the prefect roster in his mind. Although he wasn't completely sure he could rule out the female prefects, he did so playing the odds on her previous relationship history. That left a handful of choices.

When it was all said and done, Professor Snape could not firmly point a finger at a particular boy. He whittled the list down to three, including his godson Draco. This was a situation that would bear keeping on the radar. It could be a one night stand, but it could also potentially become something explosive. As he made his way back down the shifting staircases toward the dungeon, he had much to consider about the budding sex life of Hermione Granger.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N As per usual, everything belongs to JKR EXCEPT for the quote in the first paragraph. That belongs to MiaMadwyn, author of "The Care of Magical Creatures." It's a Wonderful Granger/Snape Marriage Law fic; you should check it out.

_As Professor Snape made his way back down the shifting staircases toward the dungeon, he had much to consider about the budding sex life of Hermione Granger._

Hermione left the Head Girl's room feeling ready to take on the day. She had pulled her hair in a messy bun, an unusual occurrence, and stuck a few muggle pens into it because she was planning to take notes at breakfast. Working with a quill and an open pot of ink at the breakfast table with ravenous boys around was a recipe for disaster. More than once she ended up with perfectly written notes, or worse homework, sploged and splattered because someone's robe sleeve knocked over her ink well. Of course it was all cleaned up in the blink of an eye (another spell Hermione had modified to clean up the spilt ink but leave the bulk of her notes in tact), but the annoyance just wasn't worth it. As she often thought, "there are some things that are not improved upon by magic." A muggle biro was hands down the better implement.

When she walked into the Great Hall, it didn't take her more than a few seconds to scan the Gryffindor table and spot Harry and Ron. Of course Ron was still behaving awkwardly with her, but Harry had been very understanding and diplomatic. "Oi, Hermione," Harry shouted when he saw her standing near the large double doors. She put a hand up in acknowledgement and made her way to the empty seat next to him. "Morning, Harry. Morning, Ron," she greeted. Harry smiled warmly while Ron averted his eyes and grunted, shoving a finger sized piece of sausage into his mouth.

"Hey, Mione, you look good this morning. Relaxed like. Something new with the hair?" Harry reached for his glass of pumpkin juice as he surveyed Hermione's appearance.

"I finally got a good night of sleep. I know it's my own fault, but it's just that when I get started working those arithmantic calculations, I get so involved I hardly notice the time go by. I start at 10 or 11 and then – poof! – it's 3AM. Last night I forced myself into an early bed. Still, I was working on a fascinating problem. You know the value of Arithmancy is in its predictive ability. Well, last night I was attempting to create a calculation that would show the trajectory of the major players in the war." At this point, Hermione gave a surreptitious glance toward Harry while she was dusting her porridge with brown sugar. As she expected, his eyes looked glazed. He had stopped listening to her, probably as soon as she mentioned Arithmancy. Perfect.

From years of experience, she knew that as soon as she started talking about something "fascinating," Ron and Harry's faces became vacant and their eyes started to gloss. She sometimes used the knowledge as a diversion tactic. When she didn't want them to focus on her, she would purposefully break out a little "research" and soon enough they were talking about Quidditch. All in all a very Slytherin bit of cunning. The truth was, she had more Slytherin tendencies than most of her Gryffindor peers would believe. Still, when it came time for the three of them to sneak out of the tower for some planned trouble, consistently it was up to Hermione to work out how they would get out, do what needed to be done (hopefully without getting caught), and get back in.

She bent over her breakfast and began swirling the sugar into patterns. Harry had gone back to poking his own breakfast, not noticing Hermione had stopped talking. Crisis averted. The fewer details she shared about the previous night, the less she had to worry about. Not that she was embarrassed or ashamed about what she had done, and she did take a lot of responsibility for what had happened between herself and Malfoy, but it wouldn't do to let the Hogwarts public know about it. While she would be shunned for a while by the boys and sought out by the girls of Gryffindor, she was confident she would socially be ok in the end. Malfoy, however, was another story. If people found out about their tryst, it could be devastating for him. Specifically, it could be the end of his life.

Pulling a clean piece of parchment out of her bag, Hermione set up a little work station next to her bowl of porridge. She reached for one of the pens in her hair and set to work. She really had been working a complicated calculation that would predict the movement of the war. While some of the work was clearly above her understanding and skill, she persevered with the understanding she did have of the subject.

The real magic of Arithmancy, for Hermione at least, was watching the numbers and symbols literally jump off the page and arrange themselves in a kind of graph in mid air. They were elaborate illustrations, complete with color coding and shaping. The first time she saw Professor Vector complete an equation and then wave her wand over it with a few spoken words was a moment she would never forget. The ink rose from the parchment like a ghost drifting up from its grave (which was wholly inaccurate as ghosts typically just materialized a few days after death), turning colors and twisting into spirals and loops. Seeing the individual equations meld into one perfect visual representation was a spiritual experience for Hermione.

Scratching away with her blue biro, she made a series of equations that she labeled with initials. Lost in her work, half of her porridge forgotten, she eventually felt Harry tweaking her elbow. "Come on Hermione, it's time to get to class. Double potions with the snakes… I can hardly contain my joy," he deadpanned. Quickly, she stuffed the parchment into her bag and shoved the pen back through her bun. She grabbed a piece of toast and then followed Harry out of the Great Hall and down toward the potions classroom.

He watched her walk into the Great Hall and raise her hand in greeting to Potter. Draco Malfoy observed every moment of her morning interactions through the relative safety of a curtain of his platinum hair. For the first time in weeks, Hermione looked awake and aware at breakfast. Although she always came to breakfast, more often than not she looked frumpy, hair completely untamed and clothes wrinkled and twisted. Today she looked fresh faced and together; her hair was tied into what his mother called a chignon, and her robes were pressed and orderly. He saw Potter vaguely gesture to her body. He also noticed a change in Hermione's appearance. She smiled and shot into conversation while dipping out a hefty portion of porridge. By the look of it, she was starved.

All around him, he heard his housemates nattering on about inane things. Crabbe and Goyle were guffawing about tripping a third year down one of the staircases. He was impressed that they didn't high five and do a chest bump in self-congratulations. Morons. Pansy gracefully slid into the seat next to him and leaned in close to his ear. "You look good this morning." The statement had no allure behind it. She was actually asking a question. While they weren't close by any means, they did keep tabs on each other. It was part of being a fixture in each other's lives, as well as being Slytherins. Knowing details about people's lives could be the difference between being on top of the heap or at the bottom. Pansy knew about Malfoy's nightmares.

"Slept well," he practically grunted in reply. Pansy's eyes widened and then she quickly schooled her expression to the bored neutrality that usually sat on her face. He turned to quirk his eyebrow at her. The silent question was understood. "What do you want?" She simply nodded and got up from the seat. Pansy made her way back down the table to some Sixth Year girls; he went back to spying on Granger from behind his hair.

Malfoy was confident that she wouldn't know what was coming for her. She would be so shocked when she found herself begging him to touch her only to be denied. His trademark smirk curled across his lips. "This is going to be fun," he thought. This was a game with a difficult adversary (yes, he was man enough to admit Granger was a formidable opponent, despite her dirty blood), and it would need to be played with stealth and wit. He gathered his things, and followed Harry and Hermione from the Great Hall.

Trailing a few bodies behind them, Malfoy eaves dropped on their conversation. It was incredibly boring as he suspected. "How was your weekend?" "Tell me about Saturday's practice." "Can you check over my Transfiguration essay?" Nothing very useful there. They were about ten meters away from the classroom when he decided to make his move. Step one: Make a calculated change in social behavior that draws her attention, but not necessarily everyone else's.

He sped up his walking and made longer strides, reaching Hermione in just a few steps. He skimmed past her, unnecessarily close, allowing his right hand to graze lightly past her exposed left wrist. "Move it, Granger," he huffed as he continued past her and reached the classroom door. Wrenching it open, he made his way through it, but let his leg linger behind, propping the door open for a few extra seconds so that it didn't slam shut in her face. Essentially, Malfoy was holding the door open for her. When he felt the added tension from her body pushing against the door, he moved ahead and took his usual seat. "Prat," he heard Harry mumble behind his back as he moved behind him toward his own seat. Hermione said nothing, but he felt her hesitate for a moment before moving along. Mission accomplished.

Very few things escaped Severus Snape's attention. Part of being a good spy was paying attention to the things that most people missed. A subtle touch to a person's elbow spoke volumes about the interaction between two people. The other part of recognizing these things was correctly interpreting their meanings. It could be a touch meant to control and show dominance, or it could be an endearing gesture that spoke of care. Everything and everyone fell under his scrutiny, especially his students.

In addition to the information he might be able to glean from their gossip and interactions, he could also maintain control and order in his classroom. A student that had just had their heart broken was more likely to make a mistake when making a potion. A student that hadn't been sleeping at night was more likely to nod off and cause an accident. Snape's acute observation helped to keep the students safe. The potions classroom could be a dangerous place, and it was sadly the nature of dunderheaded teenagers to be reckless and inattentive.

After observing Hermione's walk back to her room the previous night, he made certain to keep a close eye on her interactions in the classroom. He was looking for clues to help identify who her tryst had been with and assess whether or not it would be problematic in the scheme of the war. The students filed into the classroom as usual. It wasn't long before he heard Draco shouting in the hallway. "Move it, Granger!" Immediately a red flag went up in his mind. As a "mudblood," she didn't deserve to be called by name – even her last name – in public settings. The general protocol for addressing muggle borns for much of the pure blood class was to ignore them or to subtly insult them in conversation. In a school setting, outright name calling (often using variations of the name) was the favored method.

When Draco called her by her last name, he was making a statement. A calculated one at that. The muggle borns and mixed blood students would probably not recognize the breach in pure blood etiquette. The pure bloods, however, might pick up on it if they were listening to the off handed remark. He obviously had been careful not to call her "Granger" in a conversational way; the inflection he used clearly made it an insult. Still, it could raise questions with other members of his house, especially those whose families were close to the Dark Lord.

Professor Snape busied his hands with parchments on his desk while he watched Draco enter the classroom. He could see that Potter and Miss Granger were just a few paces behind him. Typically, Draco would have sped up to get to his seat for the express purpose of annoying Potter by letting the door close. This would be yet another sleight on his part. Holding the door for someone of a lesser status was not a common practice for pure bloods. Courtesies like door holding were only exercised for other pure bloods and mixed bloods that were deeply respected. Everyone else had to like it or lump it basically.

Today Snape watched, internally disbelieving what he was seeing, as Draco purposefully extended his leg to catch hold of the door and prop it open. It didn't last more than a second or two, but it was long enough to know that it had happened. Draco Malfoy willingly held the classroom door open for Hermione Granger. This development could either be the best or worst thing to happen for the war.

It was instantly clear that this was the person Hermione had walked away from last night. Only a significant interaction between them could have caused Draco to change his behavior so sharply. For many people, kicking a door open and saying a woman's name with a bit of malice would hardly be a positive change in behavior. But, Snape knew that Draco had to consciously go against everything he'd ever been taught to perform those actions. Pure blood etiquette had been drummed into him from day one. He was so well indoctrinated that a lot of the behaviors came as second nature; he didn't have to think about it, he just did it. Now, in this classroom, he might as well hold up a flashing sign that reads, "I respect Hermione Granger!"

As the class finished filing in and finding their seats, Snape made a snap decision to change his lecture plans. While the students usually worked alone at this level, today he would pair them off to make a potion. He needed to get to the deeper meaning behind these changes in Malfoy's behavior and quickly. If he was being nice for sinister reasons, it could mean that the Dark Lord had issued orders concerning the trio, or Miss Granger at the least, which he was unaware of. It could mean some kind of personal revenge plot. If he was being covertly genuine and attempting to show her affection, it might be possible to reveal his double agent status to his godson and bring him over to the Light. A closer inspection was definitely in order.

"Today we will be brewing potions that unfortunately require a bit of foolish wand waving. Sometimes using a charm or incantation during brewing can strengthen the potion being made. It can add additional properties to the brew, such as a lengthening of its shelf life or providing additional stability for one that's quite volatile. I will pair you off, and you will immediately begin to review the steps for the _Spiritus de la Luna_ potion."

His eyes wandered from seat to seat, letting each student feel the weight of his gaze. It was good to make them sweat a little bit before beginning. It reminded them that he had expectations for the way they would perform, and that when his expectations weren't met it would mean nasty detentions cutting up stink buggers and scrubbing cauldrons by hand. He began pairing off the students. He left Miss Granger and Draco for second to last. He noticed how Miss Granger's eyes wandered from person to person as he spoke their name. He could see the disappointment in her dark orbs as he called on someone else. When the class was down to just a few people, he could see her anxiety level rise. It wasn't difficult to tell from her body language that she was nervous about being paired with Draco. It wasn't excited nervousness, it was dread nervousness. "Mr. Malfoy, you and Miss Granger will be working together today." He said no more on the pairs as clearly the last two students were put together. "Let the brewing begin!" Professor Snape turned, providing his robes their full billowing effect, and made his way toward his desk.

Hermione got up from her seat in the front row and made her way to Malfoy's station. She pulled a stool from the next station over to his work counter and pulled her advanced text book from her bag. Malfoy's book was already out and opened to the correct page for the potion they would be brewing. They sat quietly, reading through the potion instructions and recipe. _Spiritus de la Luna_, or Moon's Breath, was an interesting potion. Initially created by a French wizard in the 13th Century, as indicated by the commingling of French and Latin in the title, the brew was designed to create a dense fog. While there were quite a few potions that made fog or thickened the atmosphere, Moon's Breath had properties that lowered people's inhibitions.

If someone walked into a cloud of Moon's Breath, they would start to feel very relaxed and comfortable. If they were asked a question, they would be less likely to lie and instead answer fully and truthfully, rambling on about the subject. It wasn't like being under something like _Veritaserum_; there was no compulsion to answer the question and no necessity to tell the truth. It merely created conditions that made people feel safe, comfortable, and concealed so they would be more likely to answer questions or divulge information willingly. All in all a very sneaky potion, but it was rarely used because it was difficult to brew, and it required specific planning to use it effectively.

"I'm going to collect the ingredients. Why don't you go and get the number 10 pewter cauldron?" Hermione was already moving out of her seat and heading for the supply cupboard. She took one of the ingredient carts and filled it with the items they would need. Four litres of purified water, a few mls of morning dew for extra purification, powdered bi-corn horn, violet root, night blooming jasmine petals, frog's breath, powdered iron pyrite, and a dozen live lightening bugs.

When she returned to the classroom, she could see that Malfoy had already set up the cauldron. A nice high orange flame was already under it, subtly warming the metal. When she parked the cart in front of the lab table, he immediately began to help her remove the ingredients and lay them out in sequential order. They were cooperating, albeit silently, but still they were working together relatively well. Hermione peered into the empty cauldron. She used her wand to do a quick _scourgify_ just in case Malfoy had forgotten to and then used her wand to check the temperature of the metal. "It feels ready to me. What do you think?"


	5. Chapter 5

_Hermione peered into the empty cauldron. She used her wand to do a quick scourgify just in case Malfoy had forgotten to and then used her wand to check the temperature of the metal. "It feels ready to me. What do you think?"_

Malfoy stepped next to the cauldron and repeated the temperature spell. He shook his head in affirmation. "I think it's ready, too." It was time to add the base to the cauldron and begin to add ingredients. Moving enough to reach for the water, Malfoy handed the beaker to Granger. "Why don't you add the base, and I'll get the morning dew?" She looked startled, reaching out for the glass container with an eyebrow raised. It was exactly the reaction he wanted. He was succinct and only talked about the assignment, but he wasn't rude and made a point to include her in the process. Although, Malfoy noticed that she had proffered the olive branch first by asking him to double check the cauldron temperature.

Granger poured the water down a glass stirring rod so it went into the cauldron with as little disturbance as possible. He had to admit that she knew her stuff. Standing next to her, he pulled the stirring rod from her left hand. When the glass broke the surface and dripped two drops, he pulled it clear of the cauldron and added four milliliters of morning dew. The water turned pearlescent for a second and then returned to clear.

When he looked up from the base, Granger was back at the lab table chopping violet roots into precise cubes. In the twenty minutes that it took to bring the base to temperature, they could prepare the rest of the ingredients. Silently, he set to work on the opposite side of the table. The jasmine petals needed to be crushed in a mortar and pestle. One by one he let the petals fall from his finger tips and float into the mortar. He knew he was showboating a little, but he liked the aesthetic lilt the flowers made on their descent to the marble bowl. Taking the pestle in hand, he gently applied circular motion until the oils were released, and the petals were shredded.

The jasmine was pleasantly pungent, and Malfoy leaned down to take a deep breath of the fragrance. For a brief, flickering moment he allowed contentment to rest in his features. Pulling back his face was composed and he turned to the cauldron to check the temperature. It wasn't quite ready, and so they had a few minutes to finish the ingredients and discuss how they would co-brew the potion. "The base is nearly ready." Granger looked up from her work. Stepping back from the lab table, she cleansed her hands with a quick spell and went to the cauldron. Repeating Malfoy's actions, she confirmed that the base needed to heat a degree or two more before the first ingredient could go in.

She looked him squarely in the eyes and straightened her posture. "My wand work is better than yours. I'll do the casting while you add and stir the ingredients."

"Oh really? What makes you think you're better with a wand than I am?"

"Perhaps the fact that I am consistently called upon to demonstrate new spells and charms in classes than you are. Or, perhaps it's merely the amount of practice and time I put into my wand work. Surely my grades are proof of that." She looked smug.

"See, that's the difference between Slytherins and Gryffindors. We're not compelled to show off and tell everyone in the blinking wizarding world just how skilled we are. I know my skills are superior, and that's what matters." Malfoy punctuated his statement with his trademark smirk.

"Just because I sometimes display my skills for other people, does not mean that's the length and breadth of my skills. As for _needing_ to tell everyone, well that's just ridiculous." Suddenly Malfoy was internally fighting with himself. His natural instinct was to insult her and expose her weakness, but that wouldn't help in advancing his plans. It was clear to any Slytherin that she was obsessive about school because she felt inferior. Blood aside, coming to the wizarding world at 11 was bound to be a shock. After all, to a child somewhere like Diagon Alley would feel like a place that's largely part of fairy tale books in the mundane muggle world. Even if she manifested magic at an early age, she had no one to guide her, help her control it, and show her exactly what she was capable of.

An unwelcome heaviness settled into Malfoy's chest. It didn't take a Legilimancy Master to see how hard Granger worked to be like everyone else. She was always ahead of the weekly lesson in every class. She raised her hand to answer every question. Well, she used to. He had noticed that this year she was much more subdued in class. Not inattentive, but definitely less showy. Malfoy wondered what it must have been like for her First Year. The heaviness became an ache. He quickly shook himself and continued their conversation. "Well that's great. While we've been standing here hashing out who's the better wand waver, our base has been steadily getting hotter. I'm not going to do poorly on this potion because you needed to draw a line in the sand. If you're going to cast, get your wand ready." She was clearly gobsmacked.

He took the correct measurement of powdered bi-corn horn and showed it to her for inspection. Nodding her head in agreement that the measurement was correct, he added the first ingredient. Just as the first granules touched the surface of the purified water, she began to cast the spell.

Hermione felt like someone was playing a cruel joke on her. She knew there would be repercussions from her night with Malfoy, but this was not at all what she anticipated. She expected him to be even more horrible and bothersome than normal. She expected him to screech, "MUDBLOOD" as soon as she came near him. She expected the angry retribution to extend to Harry and Ron. A Malfoy who held open classroom doors and was civil while working in partnership was an unknown variable. He was confusing and above all else, dangerous. This new development needed to be approached with care and delicacy. She had decided to test the waters to see how firmly this veneer of civility was in place.

"My wand work is better than yours. I'll do the casting while you add and stir the ingredients." If anything would goad him into his usual behaviors a direct challenge to his skills would. And then, his response floored her. Malfoy calmly countered her purposefully inflammatory statement with a direct, rational question. He didn't fly off the handle about her ego. He didn't counter her statement and tell her to add ingredients while he did the wand work. In fact, the question even had an edge of laughter to it. What the hell was going on?

She continued her attempt to get a rise out of him. She even acknowledged their silent feud over grades. Aside from some of the Ravenclaws, she and Malfoy were neck and neck for top grades at Hogwarts. Of course she always came out on top, but there were more than a few times where he was right on her ankles, never mind her heels.

Again he surprised her by countering with an insightful comment. Anyone who knew anything about the houses of Hogwarts knew the strengths of each house. Gryffindors are brave. Slytherins are cunning. Ravenclaws are smart. Hufflepuffs are loyal. But, most people would not necessarily admit to the weaknesses of each house. For Gryffindors, rashness and pride were at the top of the list for those qualities. It was true that Gryffindors were likely to run head first into a situation without assessing all of the risks. They were also predisposed to bragging (yes, as ugly as the word is), and by doing so making their strengths and emotional weaknesses vulnerable to attack.

As much as she hated to admit it, Malfoy had a point. Tactically, it made more sense to keep your skills a secret. An enemy would always be surprised, especially if they underestimated you. After all, it was the same reason she had kept her silent wandless magic a secret. She didn't want anyone from Voldemort's camp to know about it before the final battle. While Slytherins were arrogant, they played close to their chests during social interactions. Everyone was a potential enemy, ally, or pawn. The mask of indifference that Malfoy often wore was just another form of concealment. Most Gryffindors wore their hearts on the sleeves while Slytherins kept them firmly inside their chests.

And then he ended the civil argument by bringing them back to the present and the potion base approaching ruin. There was nothing to do but drop the discussion and get back to work. Malfoy carefully sprinkled bicorn horn into the base. He did his best to dust the surface evenly so the granules would create a thin skin. For Moon's Breath, everything hung on whether the surface tension of the base was broken at the very last second when every ingredient sank to the bottom of the cauldron in unison. If even a few grains of horn settled to the bottom of the cauldron, the potion was ruined. Just another reason this potion was rarely brewed.

While Malfoy was concentrating on maintaining the base's surface tension, Hermione let herself settle into the deep concentration the spell casting required. Although she had not performed the spell before, she had read the spell repeatedly and practiced the wand movements. Casting a spell isn't just a matter of saying the words and wiggling a wand; it's about intent and connectivity.

Magical children usually manifest magic spontaneously, and that's a matter of earth magic. Earth magic is inherent in most humans, but its levels vary and it almost always requires some impetus to unlock it. When children manifest for the first time, it's usually during a fit of intense emotion. It can be any emotion. One of the reasons squib children are quickly identified in wizarding families is because of their lack of manifestation during those moments. In fact, some parents attempt to provoke the earth magic in a suspected squib child. Accounts about these kinds of provocations range from simple, inert tactics like hiding favored toys or providing a special surprise to generally horrific ones like placing a child in mortal danger either physically or magically (there's at least one account of a child being _crucioed_ to provoke a magical manifestation).

Muggleborn kids, like Hermione, have a higher amount of earth magic than either parent. Typically, these kids had a specific moment where they unwittingly called upon their magic. In Hermione's case, it was a matter of preservation. Just shy of two years old, she toddled around her parent's house with typical childhood curiosity. One cold evening, her father lit a fire in the living room fireplace to help guard against the weather. As the family sat around watching the tele, a log in the fireplace cracked and tumbled from its precarious perch atop another log. When it resettled on the bottom of the grate, several burning coals were flung onto the hearth rug. The rug quickly caught alight, though the Grangers were oblivious to the new danger. Hermione, who was fumbling around the room, found the fire first.

When Mrs. Granger turned in her chair to look for her daughter, she found her sitting on the hearth rug holding a flame in her tiny hand. It took her a minute to process what she was seeing. When her brain caught up with her eyes, she cried out and ran for her baby to remove her from the danger. Without thinking, she reached for the fire in Hermione's hand. It burned her, and she quickly retracted her fingers and put them into her mouth to soothe her scalded skin. Seeing her mother's reaction, Hermione became upset. At that moment her earth magic went into overdrive. Not only did she put the fire out in her hand, but also the rest of it in the fireplace. The temperature in the room instantly decreased to near freezing. From that point on, she manifested on a daily basis and it wasn't until she was approaching primary school that she learned to control it.

By the time she came to Hogwarts, Hermione was a master at control. Time and time again she proved it in the classroom doing demonstrations with spells and charms that were new for the lesson. The moment she performed _wingardium leviosa_ perfectly the first time, she knew she was meant for that world. Controlling her magic and moving it through her wand to get the desired result was instinctual for Hermione. She internally told her magic what to do, supplied the words and movements, and it happened. The incantation for the Moon's Breath potion was no exception.

As Malfoy meticulously worked the ingredients, Hermione fell into a trance weaving the spellwork for the potion. The incantation flowed out of her like a song. She worked over the cauldron, half lidded, letting the words melodically float from her mouth into the brewing potion. She continued to move and sing the words until she felt a light bump to her ribcage. Malfoy was standing next to her; he had gently elbowed her to wake her from her trance. After taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and a soft gasp involuntarily left her throat. The cauldron was emitting a light, pearlescent fog and the surrounding area smelled like jasmine. The effect was calming and pleasant. They had been successful.

When Hermione started singing the incantation, the entire classroom stopped to watch. Even Professor Snape, who had been covertly watching the pair since the beginning of the lecture, stared from his desk. They worked seamlessly together. Miss Granger's wand work was timed to perfectly coincide with the addition of new ingredients. Draco's ingredients went into the cauldron with a seemingly feather light touch to the surface of the water base. They worked in tandem, moving to accommodate each other's access to the potion.

The potion produced the correct colored fog when Draco added the freshly liberated abdomens of the lightening bugs. When the proper reaction happened, Snape heard Draco release the breath he had been holding. Though his face was neutral as per usual, there was pride and happiness dancing in his eyes. As his godfather, Snape also felt pride in Draco's performance. Then Draco turned his eyes toward Miss Granger who was still softly singing in her trance. Again, his face remained impassive but his eyes spoke volumes. His pride extended toward her, but there was also awe at her power. Though it was invisible, the stream of magic coming from her body and wand was palpable. This witch tested and broke the boundaries of every lie proffered to keep muggleborns as second class wizarding citizens. She was everything that many purebloods wished they could be.

He moved around the lab table to stand beside her. Nudging her with his elbow, she came out of the trance and looked for the result of the potion. Joy instantly alighted on her face. Professor Snape watched as she turned to Draco and said, "we did it!" He responded with a head nod, but his eyes were warm. "Miss Granger! If you are finished prematurely gloating over your success, would you bring me a sample of your potion?" Her attention immediately returned to him. As expected she dutifully responded, "yes, Sir."

Over the years he had come to expect nothing but flawless attention to detail from Miss Granger. This potion was no exception. She moved to the supply cupboard to collect a phial and stopper, as well as length of sealing wax. Potions that produced gas needed to be in wax sealed containers; otherwise the gas could leak through the cork. Just before she approached the cauldron, she diverted to the lab table. She _scourgified_ the phial and cork first. Then she performed a cleansing charm on her hands. Finally, she expertly performed a bubble head charm, the same charm that was used during the Tri-Wizard Tournament, just before she set to work collecting the sample. She didn't miss a beat.

With sample in hand, she approached Snape's desk and put the phial in the wooden dock. "Thank you, Miss Granger, though I fear I've aged considerably in the time it took you to get here." While she lifted a petulant eyebrow, she said nothing to challenge his comment. They both knew her procedural behavior was impeccable. "What are the rest of you staring at? I suspect that most of you have botched your potions beyond repair because of your gawking. Get back to work!" A flurry of activity spread through the classroom at his last command. Miss Granger retreated to her lab table where Draco was already beginning to clean up.

They spoke little as they magically cleaned their station. He observed that Miss Granger had left the bubble head in tact, while Draco worked without one. Steadily, the features of his face relaxed. By the time the lab table was cleared, it looked like he was almost smiling. Turning his head to profile, Professor Snape quickly performed an amplification charm on his hidden ear. He had a feeling something important was about to happen. "You know, Granger, we make a pretty good team. I have to admit. You do have a way with a wand." Clearly the Moon's Breath was affecting Draco. Miss Granger, who was unaffected because she had continued with the bubble head charm, looked surprised but responded in kind. "Thank you, Malfoy. I'm glad it turned out well for us."

Leaving him no speaking space to continue, she turned away from him and dealt with the remaining potion. After it was _evanesoced_, she carried the cauldron back to its storage station. Upon returning to the lab table, she made a production of doing a freshening charm where the potion had been fogging. Draco noticed her exaggerated action, and at first seemed to question why she would do this. In the next breath, his eyes widened and it was clear he understood. He had been under the influence of the Moon's Breath. If she hadn't freshened the air, he might have continued to talk, spilling all manner of secrets and private thoughts.

Watching and hearing the exchange, a bubble of hope began to grow in Snape's chest. Could it be that Draco was beginning to see the Light? And not only see it, but see it through the lens of Hermione Granger? Of course the situation would need continued monitoring. There was still a chance that there could be something sinister in the design of this behavioral change. But, Draco's unsolicited comment and compliment could easily be read as a truth. He hadn't accounted for the proximity of the Moon's Breath, and so he didn't appear to have a calculated reason to make the comment. It just, well, tumbled out.

Yes, for the first time in many months a new kind of hope was growing inside of him. The unbreakable vow had been made months and months before, but now it might be possible to protect Draco outside of the Dark Lord's ranks. He was there when Draco received the Dark Mark; it was one of the worst days of his life. He had tried to dissuade Lucius from sending him to service so young, but Lucius insisted that Draco could be valuable inside the walls of Hogwarts in ways he could not. On the day of the ceremony, he watched as Draco valiantly played his part. Not two hours later, he found him throwing up in the hedge maze at the manor. When he offered help for his "upset stomach," he was waved off and Draco made a hasty retreat to the safety of his room.

The compliment was surprising to say the least. Hermione knew that Malfoy had breathed in the vapors from the potion, but she did not realize he had inhaled enough for it to take effect. He looked so relaxed. It took a lot of effort not to smile at him. She had to keep reminding herself that this was the same boy who had tormented her for six years. She fell back on formality and avoidance, opting to finish clearing the work station and the air. When she saw Malfoy come back to himself, she also saw the fleeting shock and fear dart through his eyes. He quickly realized just what the ramifications of undisclosed conversation could have been. Any allusion to their night together could have been overheard and interpreted by a classmate or Professor Snape resulting in certain disaster.

Malfoy cleared his throat and turned away from the lab table. There were just a few minutes left in the period, and they both busied themselves with packing up their books. Slyly glancing over her shoulder, Hermione watched him assemble his things. It was then that she noticed the shimmer on his neck. At first she wondered if he might've gotten some lightening bug on him, but then she saw the shimmer move.

Professor Snape called an end to class; no other partners managed to create a viable sample of Moon's Breath during the period. They had truly accomplished something special. Even the most skilled brewers had trouble with the potion. They had worked well together. Malfoy was first to get to the door, but she was right behind him watching the blurry spot on his neck. When they reached the hallway, she pulled her wand inside her sleeve and whispered, "_finite incantatem._" The shimmer disappeared to reveal a quarter sized purple and red bruise. Astonishment filled Hermione Granger as she saw the evidence of their liaison.

The love bite would've been easy to heal. A quick spell and the skin would've looked completely unmarked. Yet, here it was. Instead of healing it, Malfoy had used a glamour to hide it. What did that mean? He had held the classroom door open. He had a civil conversation with her. He gave her an honest compliment about her skills. And strangest of all, he left her mark on his alabaster skin. It stood out as plainly as she had seen his Dark Mark the night before. She couldn't help feeling her ego swell a bit. Somehow it was like she was in direct competition with Voldemort. "Take that you egomaniacal half-blood tosser. Pureblood superiority my arse."

Just before their paths split in the dungeon hallway, Hermione reapplied the glamour to Malfoy's neck. She had considered leaving it off, but again thought about the repercussions he might face if people started asking questions. Especially if one of those people was Pansy Parkinson; she was a nightmare at the best of times. When her charm took affect, he reached up and lightly rubbed the spot on his neck. As she slowed her pace and waited for Harry and Ron, she smiled as she watched Malfoy turn the corner toward the snake pit.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N As per usual, all characters and settings belong to JKR.

_When her charm took effect, he reached up and lightly rubbed the spot on his neck. As she slowed her pace and waited for Harry and Ron, she smiled as she watched Malfoy turn the corner toward the snake pit._

When he touched the skin on his neck, he felt the tiny twinge from the bruise Granger had given him. Malfoy quickened his pace back to his Head Boy's Room while carefully avoiding Blaise and Pansy. They were the last two people he wanted to be caught alone with. If either of them heard or saw his casual compliment or easy smile, he was done for. When he finally closed his own door and warded it securely, Malfoy expelled a long breath. Relaxing against the door frame, he once again brushed his fingers against the love bite. "_Finite Incantatem_," he whispered. The glamour faded away to reveal his discolored skin. He never noticed it was his first successful attempt at wandless magic.

It took him a few minutes to collect himself, but eventually he moved away from the door and went into the bathroom. Initially the vanity mirror had been charmed to talk back. It frequently complimented him about his physique, how effortlessly tousled his hair looked, and how compelling his eyes were. Surprisingly, Malfoy grew tired of the praise rather quickly and released the charm. He stared at the mark on his neck, thankful his mirror self was silent. It was changing color. The edges were starting to fade to yellow and the center was less purple.

When he discovered the mark that morning, his first instinct was to remove it immediately. Then he inspected it closer; it was, after all, his first one. Pansy had never taken the time to explore his skin like Granger had. Curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to keep an eye on it and cover it with a glamour. His glamours had become top notch since the summer. In the weeks before taking the Dark Mark, his father frequently commented about how sickly he looked. At first he tried potions, but they often had side effects, and it was sometimes difficult getting a supply into the manor unnoticed. Then he started practicing glamours. After a bit of research, he discovered it was possible to maintain long term focus on a projection with a bit of practice. By the time he took the mark, his father thought he was fit as a fiddle and prepared to take his place among the Death Eater ranks.

He was fully confident no one would notice the mark. When he felt the glamour lift by his door, he could tell it was still solid and functional. No worries there. No, his worries were now focused on the damage done in the potions classroom. "Fucking hell," he muttered as he left the bathroom in favor of his bedroom. "If that sodding potion does me in, I swear I will kill Severus." At that moment a new fear consumed him. What if Severus had seen his behavior? Malfoy knew that very little escaped his godfather's attention. What if Severus confronted him? Or worse! What if he went straight to his father? Suddenly weary, he flopped onto the bed to think through the situation.

For Slytherins, their strength is also their greatest weakness. In the game of life, it is distinctly advantageous to size everyone up as a potential ally, enemy, or pawn. These positions are also fluid, and so everyone is subject to re-evaluation on a frequent basis. Slytherins aren't necessarily paranoid in nature, but by constantly evaluating everyone it severely limits opportunities to create solid, lasting friendships. In fact outside of immediate family bonds, many Slytherins resist forming loyalties to other people. The reasoning is two fold. First, it's about self-preservation. Any Slytherin knows that she or he is also being sized up by any given person. Showing loyalty outside a family line can constitute a weakness. If you share your secrets, desires, and fears with other people, they can be used to manipulate and hurt you. Second, it doesn't make sense to get attached to a person who might eventually change roles. An ally that becomes a good friend is more difficult to use as a pawn or see as an enemy.

Slytherin children learn the hierarchy of people very quickly. Father and mother are at the top of the list (never, ever "poppa" and "mummy") with near aunts and uncles on the next tier down. Godparents can also be extremely important and influential, however as children grow they are made aware that godparents are not "real" family. While they might be called aunt or uncle so-and-so in childhood, by the teen years they are often called by first name. So it was for Malfoy that Uncle Severus became just Severus. And while he was told to begin to keep Severus at arm's length, he was the closest thing to a confidante that Malfoy had.

Lying in his bed, he began to think about the turn of events in potions. Normally he would go to Severus, but under the circumstances that was not possible. If he confessed to having sex with Granger, Severus would certainly go straight his father, if not Voldemort. That was not an option; he wasn't about to be turned into a revel's entertainment. So he would have to settle for his own company and rational mind.

When he was brewing with Granger, he had to admit to himself that she was magnificent. Her magic seemed so effortless, so natural. While they were working, he was focused on his own task, but when he had no more ingredients to add and stepped back to watch her sing the last of the incantation she was radiant. And then the potion began to fog and her whole face lit up with nothing but unbridled joy. He felt pride at their accomplishment. It was a difficult potion, and they had brewed it perfectly. She whispered, "we did it," and instinctively, he wanted to pick her up and twirl her around the room. The only thing that held him to his spot was the fact that he remembered he was in class with other Slytherins and Severus.

The image of holding her in his arms gave him a burst of happiness, and then he mentally beat away the image. Why should he want to do that? Yes, she was good at spell casting, but that was no reason to want to pick her up and dance around the classroom. That should have been his first clue that he was being affected by the Moon's Breath. The happiness he felt in that moment would not have been allowed to make itself known if he had been in complete control. But, during that moment of time, he was too surprised by the feeling to maintain control. Happiness was almost a foreign emotion.

He watched, mesmerized, as Hermione collected the sample phial and other bits from the cupboard, _scourgified_ her hands, and performed the bubble head charm. She was so precise and exacting. He knew he would have forgotten to bring the sealing wax for the sample. As Granger took the potion to Severus, he busied himself with beginning to clean up their lab table. Some items needed to be cleaned by hand while others could be magically cleaned. While he carefully wiped down the mortar and pestle he had been working with earlier, Granger rejoined him.

Malfoy felt the rhythm of their hands moving across the table, cleaning objects and whispering spells. He felt relaxed, and relaxation was rare for him as he had difficulty sleeping and had to maintain careful control every waking moment. It felt good to just breathe and think about the task at hand. When the table was cleaned and cleared of their equipment, he could feel his lips beginning to quirk at the corners. "You know, Granger, we make a pretty good team. I have to admit. You do have a way with a wand." The compliment came easily. After all, it was true. They worked well together and achieved success. Her spell work was flawless with a little bit of performative flair. There was more he wanted to say, but the surprise that was evident on her face halted his tongue from moving.

When she responded with an overly courteous and formal response, he began to worry. Did she really hate him? Couldn't she see that he admired her skills? Did she think he didn't do as well as she did? Questions continued to flit through his mind as she began to make a show of freshening the air where the cauldron had been. What was she doing? The potion wasn't particularly noxious; it wasn't poisonous. Why bother to…. Oh. After taking a deep breath, Malfoy could feel his mind clear and come back to order. It was almost jarring. He had felt so serene and comfortable, and now there was nothing but terror in his mind. He wasn't sure if he was more terrified that an enemy had seen and heard him being nice to Granger, or that he could remember every feeling and train of thought about her that held absolutely no anger or malice for her.

Sitting up on his bed, Malfoy had another revelation. Granger had looked out for him. She knew what had happened with the Moon's Breath, and she took the steps to remove the potion, clear the air, and alert him to shut his gob. In short she saved his ass. And now, in the quiet of his room, he mentally thanked her for taking control of the situation. What her motivation had been for shutting him up, he wasn't sure, but he was glad that she had done so.

He would soon discover if he had given the game away to anyone. While Slytherins were excellent at keeping secrets and duplicity, he was sure that it would be painfully obvious if anyone had noticed by the way they treated Granger or him before the day was out. That he could deal with as it came, but the business about wanting to hold her, compliment her, and have her respect in return needed serious thought.

After spending over an hour rehashing his actions and feelings during potions class, he could only come up with one logical explanation. He didn't actually hate Hermione Granger. In fact, he wasn't sure he even disliked her. Yes, she had inferior blood. She couldn't trace her heritage back for centuries like he could. But, she was a more than competent witch. Marks aside, her thirst to learn about the foundations of magic and the magical world made her more involved with wizarding society than most of the people born into it. Her ability was exceptional.

Was he jealous of her? Yes, a little bit. He was supposed to be better than her. That's what his father had been beating into him since he was old enough to talk. Muggleborns are filthy mudbloods; Malfoys are entitled to the world. While he still felt a great deal of entitlement, he didn't see her as filthy. In pureblood lore, muggleborns are a step up from animals. They can't properly take care of themselves which means awful hygiene, disease, and general stupidity. But Granger was none of those things. Perhaps her fashion sense and grooming was misguided, but she was clean. Potions was a perfect example. She _scourgified_ her hands more times than most of her classmates. Every time she touched a new ingredient or instrument she effectively disinfected her hands to prevent cross contamination. And of course – there was the bath. She made quite a show of rinsing her hair in the water. The way the suds cascaded down her body as she stood and waded toward him.

At that thought he felt himself beginning to grow rigid. Malfoy closed his eyes and recalled the image of Hermione approaching him in the bath. Nothing about her was unattractive. She was smart (after all, her spell held the entire time they were together), sexy (she had stripped in front of him!), and definitely clean (he could still remember the taste of her skin with the sandalwood scented bubbles clinging to her). His hand drifted toward his burgeoning erection. He palmed it through his clothes and felt the friction against his skin. Rubbing ever so slowly, his hips began to move in time with his strokes.

When he felt himself fully harden, he squinted toward the clock in his room. Ah! Plenty of time. Deciding to devote his full attention to his rigid cock, Malfoy stood and removed his school robe. He placed it, along with his house sweater, shirt, and tie over the back of his desk chair. His nipples instantly hardened in the chilled dungeon air. He toed off his shoes and socks and then undid his trousers, which quickly joined his other clothes. Malfoy made a step toward the bathroom, but stopped and doubled back to his trousers to retrieve his wand. He had fully intended to take a shower to help relieve his erection, but decided a bath might be more suited.

Wand in hand, he walked toward the bathroom, still lightly touching himself through his black silk boxers as he went. With a flick of his wand, the large tub filled with steaming warm water. Another flick and the room was filled with the scent of sandalwood and lemon verbena. Quickly he shed his boxers, dropping them near the vanity along with his wand, and stepped into the tub. The immediate contrast of sensation from the cold air and hot water heightened his sensations. It took a minute to settle into a comfortable position in the crook of the tub. When he felt settled, he let his eyes drift closed and his hands drift toward his pelvis and throbbing cock.

He could see her standing there in front of him waste deep in the water with bubbled ripples breaking against her thighs. And he was powerless to move. This time in his imagination, he wasn't angry or frightened by his immobility. He was excited and relieved by it. It meant that he could let her have control for a while; he didn't need to hold the reigns on his emotions for the next few moments. He anticipated feeling her wield the power he had given to her with a soft, yet commanding touch. And then she moved a step forward and stopped just in between in his legs. Just as she had the night before, she reached out and gave his a dick a firm stroke. In his solo bath, his legs jerked at the memory, sending water splashing over the side of the tub.

She smirked at him, a perfect replica of his own twisted smile. Again she slid her hand down his length, leaning closer to him so that her skin was brushing his. He could almost feel her straddle his leg. He bit his lip to push away the pleasure that would send him over the edge. In his mind, she leaned forward, dragging her tits along the side of his arm. "Why do we waste so much energy fighting against each other? Surely there are better ways to expend energy." Her whispered words were breathy and ended in a soft moan as she ground against his leg. Her hand moved more quickly over his swollen prick. Malfoy moved his own hands faster, sliding his foreskin quickly over his glans. So close.

She moved then and came to rest straddled across his lap. Her forehead rested against his, and her chocolate eyes stared into his. "Give me the answer," she seemed to be asking again. "Do you want this?" In his own bath, his head nodded in assent and quietly asked her to reposition her body and take him inside. He wanted to feel her against every inch of his skin. He wanted her to cover him like a blanket. And then she moved, but not in the way he expected. In his fantasy, she wrapped her arms around him and held him close, and although he couldn't return the embrace, he felt comfortable and happy. She trailed her nose the length of his face and nuzzled his ear. And then, she drew back just far enough to lift her pelvis to position his weeping cock at her entrance. There was no hesitation as she descended onto him. It was just a second or two that she waited before moving in a slow rhythm. His hands matched her pace under the water as he curled a hand around the shaft to feel "her."

Faster, their pace quickened in his mind. She was beginning to grunt a little bit as she neared orgasm. Just a few more strokes and he would be toppling over the edge with her. Suddenly, in his mind, she fell forward sealing her lips over his in a bruising kiss. Electricity stormed through him from his mouth down his spine and directly through his dick. He shuddered, squeezing himself through his orgasm. He had let his head and shoulders fall forward and as he caught his breath, a word – barely more than a whisper – trembled off of his lips. "Hermione."

Sinking into the tub, he wasn't even sure he had said her name out loud. But, he clearly heard himself repeat it in his mind. He had whispered it into her ear as he embraced her for the first time, fiercely holding her to his body. Her breathing hitched, and she stared at him. It was the first time he had ever said her first name. Even in his imagination there was surprise at his utterance. It came from his mouth tasting like a sweetie he liked as a child but hadn't eaten in years. It was like a prayer and the most decadent sin all at the same time. Her name, with its breathy round syllables, was a gentle caress.

Malfoy's eyes slowly opened and he let go of a breath that had been sitting in his chest. Something was definitely changing for him. Carefully, he stood in the bath tub and touched one foot and then the other to the cold tiled floor. Avoiding slipping on the water that had splashed to the ground, he reached for his wand and _evanescoed_ the water. He left his boxers where there were and instead found a towel in the linen closet. The clock in his bedroom let him know that he would have to be in class again in a half hour. "_Accio_ black boxers," he called toward his wardrobe. A drawer popped open and the silky material floated toward his waiting hand.

After redressing, he walked back into the sitting room and went to the fireplace. A pinch of floo powder, which was given to the Head Boy and Girl to communicate with the professors and kitchens, and he placed an order with a house elf for a sandwich and glass of pumpkin juice. His lunch appeared on the little conversation table by the hearth; Malfoy barely noticed the little elf wink in and out of the room. Moving as if in a thick fog, he eventually sat in the chair next to the table where he liked to read in the evenings. The sandwich didn't taste like much of anything. It filled his stomach, but it didn't sate his hunger for something else. What he wanted was a little caramel candy that his grandmother Malfoy used to give him as a child. He remembered they were wrapped in gold foil, but he didn't know what they were called. He squinted his eyes and tried to remember more about the packaging but couldn't. When the sandwich was eaten and the glass drained, he went back to the bathroom to wash his teeth.

As he gathered his books and made way to leave the room, he could vaguely taste the sweet caramel he remembered at the back of his mouth. The image of Hermione leaning forward and kissing his lips popped into his mind. He smiled and then directly frowned. "Oh no," he thought. "I'm definitely in danger." With a flick of his wand, "_nox,_" the lights went out, and he climbed through the portrait hole. Malfoy's face was once again the cool, impassive exterior everyone expected. First years went scurrying under his gaze as he climbed a moving staircase toward the transfiguration classroom.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N As per usual all characters and setting belong to JKR.

The ending from Chapter 5. _Just before their paths split in the dungeon hallway, Hermione reapplied the glamour to Malfoy's neck. She had considered leaving it off, but again thought about the repercussions he might face if people started asking questions. Especially if one of those people was Pansy Parkinson; she was a nightmare at the best of times. When her charm took affect, he reached up and lightly rubbed the spot on his neck. As she slowed her pace and waited for Harry and Ron, she smiled as she watched Malfoy turn the corner toward the snake pit._

She could hear them before they reached her. Smoothing her face into impassive neutrality, she turned to greet them. Before she could open her mouth, Harry's voice bombarded her. "Can you believe the great, Greasy Git! Pairing you with that wanker Malfoy. Did you check yourself for plotting spells or eavesdropping charms?"

"No, why would I? Believe me, I would know if Malfoy had tried to put a tracking tag on me." The state of her irritation had risen from non-existent to 8 of 10 in a matter of seconds.

"Stand still a minute and just let me check. I wouldn't put it past the Ferret. He's probably doing recon for Moldy Shorts." She stood still as Harry waived his wand around her searching for some sort of spell. She smirked when his wand indicated that there was nothing on or near her.

"I told you there was nothing there, now come on. It's nearly lunchtime, and I'm famished."

"I second that," Ron piped in. It was the first civil thing he had said in her presence since their break up. Together they made their way to the Great Hall for a bit of lunch. One of the great things about eating at Hogwarts was that the house elves always seemed to know what students were craving. Of course the classics were at almost every meal: bangers and mash, cottage pie, fish and chips. But, sometimes something unusual would turn up at the table. Seamus sometimes found a plate of haggis in front of him. Neville sometimes ended up with a crock of French onion soup on cold, rainy days. Apparently his grandmum used to make it for him when he was little.

Hermione, who got a taste for American food when she visited with cousins in Massachusetts, would sometimes find plates of macaroni cheese, bowls of New England clam chowder, and onion rings. Today, the house elves saw fit to put a platter of golden fried chicken near her seat. She immediately reached for a leg, not even taking the time to sit it down and add side dishes to her plate. The skin was crispy and sweet while the meat was juicy and tender. It was a bite of heaven.

When all that was left of the leg was bone and a bit of cartilage, she looked around the rest of the table. As per usual, the food smelled incredible. She settled for a scoop of mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, and another piece of chicken. This time she chose a thigh, preferring the dark meat to the white. The flavors mingled in her mouth, and a small smile appeared on her face after nearly every bite. Her food reverie was broken by Ron elbowing her in the rib. "Oi! Hermione, don't hog all the chicken. Hand us a breast, would you?" Once again her annoyance level rose exponentially. She put her utensils down and handed the platter to the eager Weasley.

The table began to clear one serving platter at a time. Desserts began to appear in their place, and a whole pecan pie sat directly in front of her. Opting to take dessert back to her room, Hermione cut a liberal slice and put it on a side plate. A quick stasis spell (done vocally with her wand), and she excused herself from the table. Both Harry and Ron put a hand up in acknowledgment but were otherwise totally engrossed in dipping out ample portions of trifle.

The walk back to the Head Girl's Room was uneventful, but inside she was stewing. Lately, it felt like her relationship with the boys was feeling some major strain. Of course she knew that her breakup with Ron would be a serious source of contention. She knew it would take time for things to settle down, and she knew the dynamics would change. What she hadn't counted on was her renewed perspective of how their relationship worked and the kind of people they had grown into. Increasingly, she didn't like what she noticed.

Since returning to school, Harry reminded her more and more of a petulant child. He complained that he wasn't far enough in the "fight Voldemort" loop and that he was wasting his time at Hogwarts when he should be out searching for horcruxes. Never mind the fact that they only had a vague guess at the artifacts Tom Riddle had prized and knew of just one way to destroy said artifacts. The agent of destruction? A basilisk fang, still lying in the Chamber of Secrets presumably next to the rotting corpse of its former owner.

In typical Gryffindor fashion, Harry wanted to run into Voldemort's hide-out, wand blazing. Planning and strategy were not his strong point. He didn't think of the consequences of acting instead of thinking. The night in the Department of Mysteries was a prime example. And when it was all said and done, he blamed himself too much for Sirius's death and not enough for endangering his other friends and the Order's mission. Of course it was only natural that Sirius's death would be crushing; it was one of the last links to his parents. But there were bigger things at stake, and Sirius knew what he was doing when he chose to leave the safety of Grimmauld Place.

The anger and fear that was building inside of Harry made him susceptible to Voldemort . These would be the emotions that he would pray upon. These emotions also contributed to Harry's "no one understands me, it's too hard being the Savior of the Wizarding World" attitude. At every opportunity, it felt like he just threw his hands up and shouted, "I just want to be a normal kid!" while stomping his feet. That was all well and good, but he wasn't an ordinary kid and until the Dark Lord was defeated, there was no hope of living an ordinary life.

And so he compensated by behaving like a Third Year, choosing to focus on playing quidditch, making up revenge plots for Professor Snape, and continuing the rivalry with Malfoy. His regression made him blind to the changes that everyone around him had gone through. And maybe the worst victim of his blindness was Ron. Poor Ron. The Mirror of Erised had been particularly prophetic for him. He longed for singular recognition by his friends, mentors, and parents. Where Hermione and Harry received praise galore for their accomplishments, Ron always seemed to just make honorable mention. "I couldn't have done it without you, mate," was a phrase that made Ron cringe.

One of his proudest moments was when Dumbledore awarded him extra points for his chess match in the sub-dungeons. Unfortunately, the moment was quickly overshadowed as the students began to hear the rumors of Harry's second defeat of You-Know-Who. At the time he took it in stride. But as the years went on, and more and more occasions cropped up where the spot light shone on Harry, Ron's bitterness grew. As with his own brothers, he always felt marginalized. Oh he loved Harry like a brother, but he also coveted his popularity and status.

It was the same with Fred and George. The twins were boisterous over-achievers. Their ability to invent nearly anything won them a lot of praise and attention at home – even if it was sometimes negative attention. (There was one time they set off a "stink bugger bomb" under Molly's sink. They were grounded for weeks, but Arthur admitted that the creation of the bomb was a stroke of genius.) "Ickle Ronnikins" was often the test subject for their inventions, whether he wanted to be or not. The results were often not pretty.

When he came to Hogwarts, he hoped to make a name for himself. Somehow he wanted to set himself apart from the twins. But, the fateful meeting on the train led to more of the same. When that reality sunk in, Ron took to playing his part of sidekick and fool with abandon. Most people thought he was a little slow. The truth was that Ron was actually very smart. He was more than capable of producing viable potions or transfiguring objects. However, most people didn't anticipate his intelligence, nor did they have high expectations for him. Because of this, he chose to perform at a mediocre level, settling for comic relief instead of seriousness.

Dichotomously, as much as Ron wanted to stand in the spotlight and receive its accolades, he was terrified that when it came down to it he wouldn't be able to perform. He had the capacity to excel academically, but the actual competition of having to produce results was petrifying. Ultimately it was easier to play second fiddle. No one pestered him about putting forth a better effort. No one suggested that he should be the first person to walk into a dangerous situation. Failure was not something he had to worry about because it was up to someone else to fail. And so he jealously looked on at other people while cursing himself for a coward at his inability to just try.

They were two peas in a pod. Both young men desperately hung onto the roles they had played as children because it was easier than stepping up and behaving in the ways that they needed to as grown men. A little maturity would have gone a long way for the boys. Sadly, there was no way for Hermione push them along into adulthood. They would need to make the changes individually. Harry would have to fall into the moment where he would need to stand and fight instead of turning into himself. And Ron would have to do the same, take a stand and show his true skills instead of fumbling through.

Hermione felt a tear slip down her cheek. She understood that their friendship would never be what it had been. She retreated from Harry and Ron, opting to put her energy toward her studies and her war research. Although she was resolved to stand next to Harry on the battlefield, she felt that she would be helping and supporting the two of them from the sidelines rather than holding their hands. Her promotion to Head Girl helped move things in that direction.

And there she sat in her private room, staring at the Arithmancy calculations on her desk, attempting to make sense of it all. The pie sat next to her notes forgotten. "Ugggghhhh!" A bark of frustration left her throat as she roughly pushed back her desk chair and began to pace the room. "Focus! Get it together, Granger. You've got to focus if you want to do Harry and Ron any good." She flopped onto her bed and immediately felt something poking her back hidden under her covers.

It wasn't Crooks as he would've yowled and scratched at her. Curiously she peeled back the covers, only to reveal the muggle romance novel she had carried with her the previous night. Immediately her thoughts left Harry and Ron and turned toward Malfoy and the Prefect's Bathroom. She smiled and her skin flushed. The solution to her flustered mind presented itself.

For years she had been using masturbation as a stress reliever. Losing herself in a fantasy and fulfilling it with an orgasm (or two) always cleared her mind. As she grew more practiced, she learned all sorts of tricks to heighten the experience. She could use charms to subtly warm her skin. She could transfigure objects into dildos or vibrators. She could set a mood with a flick of her fingers, changing lighting, room temperature, and the scent of the air.

Crawling toward the center of the bed, she whispered, "_divesto_" and her clothes disappeared. The new contact between her skin and the cool bed clothes caused her to wriggle a bit. Hermione closed her eyes and allowed her memory of her entrance to the Prefect's Bathroom to play. A flick of her fingers and the lighting dimmed and the room scented of sandalwood and verbena. She noted how lithe and lean Malfoy's body was stretched out in the tub, taking in the utter relaxation on his face. She rubbed her legs together for a bit of friction. He was beautiful; it was undeniable. There was no doubt that his genes had been kind to him.

She, like many of the other Seventh Year girls, had always been curious about what he looked like naked. Malfoy had the perfect allure of the bad boy. Dangerous, aloof, sexy, mysterious. He was the quintessential dark romance character. In the past, Hermione had used him on more than a few occasions as fantasy material. Her fantasies weren't too different from what had actually transpired between them. An accidental meeting would lead to a cocky, heated exchange followed by mind blowing sex. The major difference was that in her fantasies, Malfoy was the aggressor. She wasn't passive by any means, but his strength and dominance gave her the opportunity to let go in ways she wasn't otherwise capable of.

As she remembered the surprise on his face as she stripped, she smirked. She made her way through the imagined bath and sat on his knee, eliciting a deep moan from her chest. Now she allowed her hands to tickle and pinch her nipples and then trail down her abs toward her waiting pussy. She wanted to make it last, so she teased her skin. She ran her fingers through her trimmed pubic hair before lightly touching the inside of her labia. Heat curled in her stomach. Gingerly, she used her index finger to just touch inside her aching center and spread her moisture over her tight clit. She sighed at the contact.

In her fantasy, she whispered in Malfoy's ear about fighting with each other. It was so draining and childish. Why fight when they could do this? Translate that latent passion in much more pleasurable ways. And then, she released her spell and he moved to wrap his arms around her. The feeling of their skin brushing together was electric. She reached up to tweak her left nipple as she thought of the way he had used his mouth and tongue to turn her on. Using one of her tricks, she warmed the tip of her finger with a charm. As she traced her areola, she felt his tongue on her skin.

Seeing his mouth enclose her nipple made her squirm. If only his talented mouth would move elsewhere. And it did. He licked down the side of her breast, and began to nibble at her stomach. Suddenly, he tightened his hold on her and in a matter of seconds, he had turned them 180 degrees and had placed her bum on the edge of the sunken bath. Gently he urged her back as his mouth finished its descent. She could feel him inhale deeply as he reached her mound. His exhalation warmed her and caused her clit to stiffen. Casting another warming charm, she felt the warm puff of "breath" on her skin. And then, his tongue reached out for her, carefully stroking her pinkness. He continued just avoiding directly touching her clit for a few minutes, driving her to higher and higher plateaus of want.

Eventually, she could take no more. Her fingers mashed her throbbing clit bringing long denied relief for the ache that had swelled inside of her. She moved her hips in time to the flicking of his tongue in her mind. The feeling was intense, but she needed more. She quickly summoned her favorite dildo from her bedside table with a quick _accio_. Taking just enough time to dampen it with a bit of saliva, she plunged the tip inside, causing a satisfying moan. The next thrust went deeper. The next was angled slightly and tilted to rub across her G spot. Just a few pumps more with her hands working in synch, and she was there falling off the edge of the mountain into boneless bliss. Nothing felt so good as the come down from orgasm.

Malfoy trailed soft kisses up her torso, leaving a mingling of her juices and his saliva on her skin. She sighed contentedly when he placed kisses over her breasts and up the side of her neck. He rested in the cradle of her neck and held her close. Then something unexpected happened. She swore she heard him whisper, "Hermione" in her ear. He had never called her by her given name before, not even in her fantasies. This was an unsettling departure from reality.

"Could it be that I opened a flood gate by engaging Malfoy?" Hermione quickly dismissed the thought and sat up in bed. She did a quick _scourgify_ on her toy and sent it back to the drawer. Opting to dress the muggle way, she opened her wardrobe and found new knickers. She redressed leisurely, enjoying her new relaxed state of being. When she was finished dressing she walked over to the fire place and threw in a pinch of floo powder. She called to the kitchens for a jug of pumpkin juice. There was still plenty of time before transfiguration, and so she thought she would get down to some serious work.

An elf quickly winked in with the jug and a glass. She thanked him for his speedy delivery. The startled elf bowed low and winked away. After pouring and draining a glass of juice, she pulled out the arithmanctic calculation that she had been working on before she went on her journey to the bathroom. Speaking the incantation aloud, the symbols and equations rose off of the page and arranged themselves in front of her in the spectral graph. Hermione was so shocked by what materialized that she dropped her wand. The graph was completely different.

Last night the equations arranged themselves in an unsurprising trajectory. She, Ron, and Harry went together on a great journey at some point during the school year. She extrapolated that this was the horcrux hunting expedition. According to the calculation, this would last for months. Skirmishes between the Light and Dark were spotted all over the timeline. Some involving major players like Order Members and Deatheaters. Others involved civilians. She tried to add as much information as she knew to make the prediction as accurate as possible.

She knew that Professor Snape was a spy for the Light working very closely in Voldemort's inner circle. While his line often ran segregated from the others, it was unmistakably tied to the Light. This was one of the reasons she advocated for him so fiercely to Harry and Ron. While it wasn't fair to say that the projections didn't lie, they could not be manipulated to project an intended outcome. In other words, she couldn't manipulate the runes or equations into producing a timeline for the Professor that made him an enemy. If he firmly became an enemy, or his behaviors began to deviate from the Light, then the graph would change. She could even produce graphs that showed "what might happen if." But, she couldn't plug in his information to the straight equation and make him an enemy. Hermione knew that he was an ally, and not just an ally, but perhaps the person to trust most within the Order.

Also in the original projection, she could see the trajectory of the Dark. Of course her knowledge there was limited, but with what she did know it looked like there would be increased attacks on muggleborns and muggles in general. Voldemort stayed securely in his lair until the final battle, using flunkies to do his dirty work. The outcome of the final battle was undetermined as there were too many factors and too many holes that she just couldn't fill in.

She had tried to factor in the students who supported Voldemort, chiefly Malfoy. His line wasn't firmly tied to the Dark, but it never veered toward the Light. Her extrapolation for his part of the graph was that he was trying to survive, which was fair enough. According to the graph, he attempted to follow the orders that he was given. Several times his line on the graph abruptly ended. This wasn't uncommon for lines on the graph. This could mean a potential death, but it could also mean something more complex. It could mean that someone ceased to be important in the trajectory of the war. It could mean that someone had gone into hiding.

Today the results of the graph were shocking. Where she and Harry and Ron had been very closely aligned, now they each separated and took their own paths toward the final battle where they rejoined. This wasn't totally unexpected, given how she was feeling lately about their friendship. But, it was strange that up to last night they were still closely bound together with little indication of even small stints away from each other. It was difficult to say what the tasks were for Ron and Harry individually, but it seemed that they didn't work alone. Ron's line moved closer to Luna Lovegood's while Harry's moved closer to Padma Patil's.

The thing that stood out most was the shift between her, Malfoy, and Snape. Where their lines occasionally intersected (usually denoting information exchange or a skirmish), now their lines were closely aligned. In fact her line and Malfoy's joined and became one line. Professor Snape's line ran closely parallel to theirs. Before, Malfoy's allegiance was clearly in the darker grey area of the Dark, but now he was firmly in the Light on a collision course with Voldemort and his own father, Lucius Malfoy.

Stepping away from the graph, Hermione looked down at the parchment with the equations. It was definitely the same parchment from the night before. There were no new notes or changes made to her original calculations. Quickly she ended the graphic projection and made a parchment copy of the equation. She set to work tweaking and changing the runes. She explicitly made new additions to calculate the projection if her interaction with Malfoy had not happened. After a few minutes of intense work, she waved her wand again and a new graph floated into being. It resembled the old graph in nearly every way. In this one, Malfoy's line stopped abrubtly; it looked like it ended just a week after Christmas.

This development was disturbing to say the least. Once again she ended the projection. She made new notes on the copy, imputing information that suggested that she ignore their interaction. The new graph was more like the old one. This time Malfoy's line ended before Christmas. Frantically, she made new corrections that suggested she and Malfoy became comrades who worked together. This graph showed her line merging with his, Professor Snape working closely with them, and the boys working on their own. The only difference she could decipher was that it took less time for her and Mafoy's lines to merge than before.

There was only one interpretation to make. By engaging Malfoy in the Prefect's Bathroom, she had opened a Pandora's Box of sorts. Their interaction last night changed the trajectory of the major players in the war. Where she assumed the Golden Trio would be the major impetus on the battlefield, now there were six people (potentially eight if Luna and Padma became as important as the graph suggested) who were facing Voldemort. More and more it was beginning to look like Malfoy's defection to the Light was a tipping point of sorts. Their joining lines made the Light stronger on the graph.

Hermione was out of time. She needed to leave her room and get to transfiguration. Grabbing her backpack, she exited her room and raced along the corridor. She was resolved that as soon as class was over, she would seek out Professor Snape and show him what she had discovered. Of course she realized that she might well need to explain what changed things so dramatically, but she was more focused on the part where she could tell him that the Light now had a fighting chance.

Hermione didn't know if Malfoy knew that his godfather was a spy. It wasn't feasible to take the arithmantic equations to him without that information. If Draco Malfoy was indeed going to become a member of the Light, then it was probably best that his godfather be the man to bring him into the fold. With these thoughts racing through her mind, she slowed her pace as she reached the classroom's corridor. Catching sight of Harry and Ron waiting, she pasted on her best "hello, Boys!" smile and walked toward them.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N Every thing belongs to JKR; I own nothing._

When Professor Snape dismissed his class, he watched as Draco gathered his things and virtually raced for the door. Miss Granger was hot on his heels, and while he longed to follow them and watch their interactions, he knew he needed to stay put and maintain his cover. The rest of the students filed out of the classroom, and before the last one had crossed the door's threshold he was out of the room and headed down the hall to his private office.

The castle was generous to its professors, providing them with quarters that suited their individual needs. Each professor was given private chambers with a sitting area, dining area, bathroom, and bedroom. Beyond this, other rooms were constructed by the castle to fulfill other needs that a professor might have. For example, Profess Lupin had a "safe room" attached to his quarters that he could stay in if he should forget to take his wolfsbane potion. Madame Hooch, who as you may guess enjoyed all manner of sports and games, had a muggle bowling alley as part of her rooms (though very few people enjoyed that particular knowledge). As a potions master, Severus Snape required quite a few extra rooms.

In addition to the classroom supply cupboard and office where students could meet with him during his office hour, he also had a private lab, supply cupboard, library, and "preparation room" complete with a direct exit from the castle. On the nights that the Dark Lord called upon him, he needed to don his Deatheater robes and mask and leave the castle secretly. Obviously the students couldn't see him in his Deatheater garb, and there were many nights that he returned broken and bruised in such a matter that only Poppy Pomfrey could ease his suffering. The prep room had a fireplace that could quickly and efficiently send him to the infirmary on those evenings.

On this morning, Professor Snape purposefully strode to his private supply cupboard. However, he was not seeking ingredients for a potion; no, he was seeking the inhabitant of the lone portrait he allowed in his rooms. Many people believed Snape was a paranoid man. Wary was perhaps a better adjective to use. Most portraits that were animated allowed the inhabitant to roam from picture to picture. This was seen on a daily basis in the castle. Sir Cadogan was often seen chatting with The Fat Lady instead of being in his own frame. Due to their positioning and lifestyle, portrait inhabitants were notoriously terrible gossips. Any bit of information spread like wildfire, repeated from one portrait to another and then on to the human occupants of the castle.

Severus Snape absolutely valued his privacy and solitude. Keeping portraits in his private living quarters was asking for prying eyes and gossip. Again, on those nights his Dark Mark burned, it would not do to have some nosey painted person travel through the castle speaking of Deatheater robes and torture. For this reason, he allowed just one portrait in his rooms, and it was kept in near solitude in his supply cupboard. "Master Suponificus, I am in need of your services this day!" Professor Snape shouted as he burst through the door.

Ignotus Suponificus was the potions master at Hogwarts during the 17th Century. Originally sorted into Ravenclaw as a student, he was a brilliant potioneer as well as scientist. He was known for combining magic with muggle techniques to create new brews and brewing processes. Like many Ravenclaws, his hunger for knowledge was ravenous. Where many masters snubbed muggle sciences, he absorbed every text book he could find, pressing the boundary of potions during his time. In fact many of his innovations became standard for the field.

The "Bunsen burner" cauldron was one such invention. It made sense to Master Suponificus that steady, even heating would add to a potion's stability and would make for consistent results over the course of several brewings. While many potioneers used magical flames to attempt to achieve this result, the magic was often unreliable as the attention and magic of the brewer were more focused on the potion. Suponificus ingeniously took a muggle Bunsen burner and modified it to work with magical energy instead of gas. The burner was adjusted by the use of a wand and incantation to change the intensity of the flame it produced. By using the burner as a conduit for the magic of the brewer, it increased its efficiency, reliability, and safety. The burner could "remember" to continue using a magical flame without gaps or sudden fluctuations to the fire. Over time the invention was fully incorporated into a cauldron stand. By the beginning of the next century, it was standard practice to use the "Bunsen burner" cauldron instead of a wood fire or magically produced flame.

As Professor Snape strode into the room, the force of his body against the door caused it to ricochet off of the castle wall. Snape was well past the returning door as it slammed shut, but Master Suponificus, who was just in the middle of a delicate ingredient addition to the potion he was working on, dropped a whole fist full of valerian root into his brew as he was completely startled by the noise. The emulsion immediately turned a putrid orange color, like a child's sick after eating peas and carrots, and furiously bubbled over the sides of the cauldron. He quickly _evanescoed _the mess and turned to glare at Snape. "That was a perfectly good experiment until you burbled in here. What ever is happening that you needed to come through the door like a wild rhino on a rampage?"

"My apologies for startling you, Ignotus, but I need you to travel through the other portraits. The information you gather may bring a dramatic shift in the war." Over the years, Professor Snape had consulted Master Suponificus for advice about potions, ingredients, and brewing techniques. They struck up a tenuous friendship. Potions masters jealously guarded their secrets and techniques. It was a true mark of respect for a master to confide or question another and begin a dialogue. This was one of Severus Snape's true frustrations with his potions peers. There was little give and take among them and so advancement was halted to merely a trickle. If only more of the current masters were like Ignotus Suponificus.

During the course of their conversations, Snape revealed general information about the state of the war and his general purpose in it. Always portraying himself as firmly planted on the side of the Light, Master Suponificus aided Snape however he could. Having been a supporter of integrating muggle ideas into disciplines, he too was firmly supporting the Light. "Well, my boy, that is something! Where do you need me to be?"

"I need you to follow Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy throughout the castle. Specifically, I need knowledge of their interactions when they are together. They've just gone down the hall to separate for lunch. I don't anticipate that you'll see them in proximity to each other until they make their way to Transfiguration."

"A serpent and a lioness, eh? That certainly would make a powerful combination. Do you suspect they are working together?"

"No, but I believe that they could be persuaded to, and I believe it may be vital to the war effort if they joined forces for the Light."

"Marvelous! I'll make my way through the other portraits now and see what gossip I can skim. I shall position myself in the Quidditch portrait near the Transfiguration classroom so as to blend in a bit more. You know I am awfully fond of watching Ravenclaw trounce Hufflepuff. It's been centuries, and it never gets old." With that, Master Suponificus walked out of frame and meandered through the castle's portraits with a mission.

Hermione did the best she could to greet Ron and Harry in a jovial manner. It was sometimes very trying to have to put on the act of happy-go-lucky Hermione. The three of them met just at the top of one of the shifting staircases. She ushered them to the side, so as not to block other students getting to their respective classes. Harry quickly began conversation. "Aw, you really missed out! The house elves outdid themselves on that trifle. They must whip the cream by hand."

"Sounds like it was delicious, Harry. What have you been up to since then?"

"We got in a good round of exploding snap in the common room. In fact, Neville got in an amazing play that singed off Seamus's eyebrow. I've never seen him play so aggressively."

"Yeah," agreed Ron. "It's like something has really gotten into him. I mean he always practiced hard at the DA meetings, but now he's actually going after it."

"Well, that makes sense. We're getting closer and closer to the final battle, and each of us has to deal with that in our own way. Maybe Neville's way is to come out of his shell and be a little more aggressive."

"I guess I understand that. What's your way?" asked Harry.

"To do more research. I've been trying to tell you that I've been working with arithmancy to try to predict the outcome of the war." At that point, Ron interrupted Hermione in his usual dismissive way. "Hermione, we haven't taken arithmancy since second year. Why do you even bother trying to explain it to us when we never listen? I mean, can't you just tell us who's going to win?"

"No, Ronald, I cannot just tell you who's going to win." Her anger was rising. "I'm not a fortune teller." Harry tried to step in a mediate.

"What I think Ron's trying to say is that maybe you could explain things a little simpler. Since we haven't taken arithmancy for a long time, we're a little rusty on the terminology."

"No, Harry, that's not what I mean. I mean I don't care about the damn arithmancy. I don't care about the calculations or the projections. Instead of trying to prove how damn smart you are, can't you just get to the point?" His words wounded her as if he had punched her in the face. She didn't recoil though, she just shot back.

"That's your problem, Ronald. You always want to just get to the point. But as I'm sure you'll remember, when you rush off to the point things tend to happen _prematurely_." Ron flushed four shades of red; his mouth worked but nothing came out. His moment for a comeback passed by, and Harry once again interceded to shift the conversation.

"Speaking of getting to the point, I wish old Snape would make one every once in a while. What was the point of sticking you with Malfoy this morning? I think he's trying some kind of sabotage."

"And what do you mean by that?" Hermione queried.

"Well, I mean what if he had counted on Malfoy to add a different ingredient to make some kind of poison gas? Or, what if he was purposefully trying to get you to say something about the Order?"

"First of all, _Professor_ Snape IS an Order member. The last thing he would want is for me to divulge any information. Second, you know that tinkering with ingredients can cause catastrophic accidents. Malfoy may be a lot of things, but he's not dumb enough to substitute ingredients in a potion as delicate as Moon's Breath." Harry's anger was also beginning to rise.

"Are you defending him, Hermione?"

"Listen, houses aside, I would work with Malfoy in potions any day because bottom line – he's a good student. Unlike you two pillocks, he actually reads his text books. Next to me, he's the best student in that class. Do I trust the guy as far as I can spit? No, but that doesn't mean I don't respect his ability, nor does it mean that I won't work with him in a classroom because of some ridiculous prejudice." With that, Hermione stormed away from Harry and Ron and made her way into the Transfiguration classroom. Instead of her usual seat, she sat in one of the traditionally empty chairs near the back of the room.

Malfoy left his room with plenty of time for class. Over the years he had come to appreciate the castle's sentientness. While it wasn't recognized as a "being," the castle seemed to have a life force of its own. It reconstructed classrooms and private chambers according to what was needed. It regenerated in places that were damaged, although it allowed a great deal of "wear and tear" to remain. It was common to discover bits of graffiti from past students in dormitories or classroom crevices. There were former student's names and dates chiseled all over. Sometimes it would catch a person off their guard to read a teacher's name clumsily carved into a wall or windowsill. (In fact, the moniker "Severus'74" can be found inside the fireplace in the Slytherin common room.)

During his pre-Hogwarts education, Malfoy had been taught a general history of the castle. As an especially important founding site and magical icon, it was essential to learn a kind of reverence for the castle before stepping foot inside of it. He was told in so many words to respect the castle. During his first few weeks in First Year, he wandered aimlessly running a hand along to the stone wall. When he came into contact with a door, he thought he could sometimes hear a light sigh of appreciation from the wooden frames. The building was vast, and there were many areas that were rarely used or in some cases, completely forgotten. He felt that his small attention to the castle gave him a rapport with his home away from home.

The staircases were a particular favorite for him. Malfoy would often let the shifting stairs direct his route. In the evenings when he did his rounds, he found all sorts of interesting things courtesy of the stairs. But perhaps more importantly, the castle seemed to know when he was in a hurry. There were times he was running to get to class on time, and the staircases just aligned perfectly to give him the straight path to his destination.

While he made his way to Transfiguration, the stairs seemed to shift one direction and then the other. Eventually he made his way to the last set of stairs that would get him to the classroom. As he was nearing the top step and anticipating the stairs to meet the landing, a curious thing happened. Just shy of reaching the landing by the classroom, the staircase stopped moving. Cautiously, Malfoy peeked over the edge of the top step. He could see several feet moving to the side of the landing, and then he heard _her_ voice. "No, Ronald, I cannot just tell you who's going to win."

Win what? The next Quidditch match? A bet? The war? Whatever she was talking about, she was angry that much was clear. The Weasel's response came after a second, and while he was sure he had missed some of the conversation, the punch line was clear: "Instead of trying to prove how damn smart you are, can't you just get to the point?" Ouch! Immediately he felt sympathy and anger welling up inside of his chest. That was a low blow, and who the hell was he to insult someone whose ability was head and shoulders above his?

He didn't dwell on the feelings long, as they were quickly replaced with a proud smirk at Hermione's return. "That's your problem, Ronald. You always want to just get to the point. But as I'm sure you'll remember, when you rush off to the point things tend to happen _prematurely_."

"So the rumor was true then? No wonder she had taken complete control last night." Before Malfoy could think about it further, he heard Harry cut in. The conversation was a bit more muffled, and he could just pick out a few words. Among them were "Snape" and "Malfoy." He strained enough to understand what was going on, but by the time the conversation was over he was absolutely shocked. Hearing Hermione Granger say, "I would work with Malfoy in potions any day because bottom line – he's a good student," was absolutely flooring. She had outright simultaneously complimented him and defended him to the two people who were supposed to be her best friends in the whole world.

Moments later, the feet moved away from the landing and the staircase was in motion again. Carefully, he completed his ascent and crossed the corridor to the classroom. Upon entering he observed Hermione sitting in an unusual seat while Weasel and Potter sat hunkered over their desks wearing identical scowls. This was sure to be an interesting class.

From his position in the quidditch stands, Ignotus Suponificus took in the dramatic scene that unfolded before his eyes. Watching Ravenclaw beat Hufflepuff was an enjoyable, but predictable experience. Here was a brand new drama to behold. The three friends began cordially, but the conversation quickly turned to discord. Of course the whole castle (portraits, professors, and students alike) knew about the bad breakup between Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. It was clear that he was still lashing out, while she was attempting to focus her attention elsewhere. In true fashion, Mr. Potter attempted to control the impending fireworks between his feuding friends, but he was unable to prevent himself from becoming embroiled in the argument. Master Suponificus never cared much for Mr. Potter's haughty attitude, or his unfounded hatred for Master Snape.

Miss Granger, on the other hand, always stood up for Master Snape, often in covert ways like correcting her friends to use his title of Professor. The vulgar "Snape" was a clear brand of disdain and disrespect. In his day, students would not have been allowed to get away with being so disagreeable. At any rate, he applauded as Miss Granger showed her backbone (though he was a bit shocked at her thinly veiled reference). And then he could not help but stand and applaud as she made a case for inter-house cooperation. While the houses had always fiercely favored their own, it was only since the last war with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that the houses self-segregated so severely. Surely, if the Light was to triumph, a cohesiveness between the houses would be essential. As he had said to Master Snape, a serpent and a lioness would make a powerful union.

The trio dispersed with Miss Granger storming into the classroom while the two remaining boys fumed a minute before following. Seconds later, Mr. Malfoy walked across the landing. While many would say his face was set in his usual smirk, Master Suponificus discerned that Mr. Malfoy had heard plenty of the conversation. If he had to put it into words, he was would've said that instead of a smirk, it looked almost like a sly smile. Satisfied that he had done his duty for the minute, Ignotus turned back around and redirected his attention to the match at hand.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N I apologize in the posting lag. Grad school is a harsh master that requires constant attention. Thank you for your well wishes and encouragement. They're greatly appreciated._

_As per usual, everything is JKR's and nothing is mine._

When Minerva McGonagall walked into her Transfiguration classroom, she quickly noted the seats that her Gryffindor charges occupied. "Another one of those days then," she thought to herself as she made her way to her desk and began to ruffle her notes on the daily lecture. With sidelong glances she noticed how Harry and Ron not-so-quietly fumed about Hermione's high handedness and how Hermione was busily scratching out notes on a piece of parchment with a muggle biro. Typical. Where Hermione chose to struggle through her frustration with work, the boys favored blaming other people and playing victims.

Personally, McGonagall had done a silent fist pump when she heard the news of Ron and Hermione's break up. Ron was a sweet boy, but he was no equal to her academic fervor. They were two people who had been thrown together in tumultuous circumstances and had clung together because of their history. Then again, who didn't have someone like that somewhere in their past? Her relationship with Albus had been proof positive of that. Fortunately, they had been able to salvage friendship and a good working relationship with each other instead of letting their messy breakup taint everything. She only hoped that would happen for Hermione and Ron, although by the looks of it, it would be sometime before the dam would be repaired.

She stood behind her desk and did a quick survey of the room, checking off absences and pre-picking unsuspecting "victims" to answer on the spot questions. During her visual scan, she caught sight of Draco Malfoy's face. If she had blinked, she would have missed it, but clear as a shaft of sunlight on a cloudy day was a small smile resting on his lips. His eyes darted toward the back of the classroom. Just a few students dared sit in there. Any student in the back row was guaranteed to be called upon to ask a question, and so most students clustered in the middle. Safety in numbers and all that. Who was he looking for? She couldn't tell specifically who his eyes rested on for a second or so, but whoever it was made his smile quirk just a bit before smoothing back into neutrality. Interesting.

"Alright, students," her mezzo soprano brogue filled the air. "As per the syllabus, today we'll be talking about the theory involved in transfiguring a written thought, description, or equation into a physical manifestation. One of the most basic examples of this is the graphic projection of an arithmancy calculation. I'm sure most of you have seen this done in Professor Vector's class. While these are impressive in their own right, the graphs are non-reactive or interactive. The manifestation of the calculation remains static until changes are made to the written equations. There are ways to produce manifestations that can be interactive or at the least reactive. Turn to page 687 and _reread_ the page."

After her introductory speech, she moved toward the practical area where an assortment of written pieces were waiting for her. An excerpt from a fairy tale. A description of a person. A potions formula. Once again looking around the classroom, most of the students' heads were bent over their books. Some looked at the page with furrowed brows, clearly reading it for the first time. Others were half asleep, while a few others scribbled notes. It was going to be a long three hours.

Hermione got into her back row seat before class began and immediately went to work on more arithmancy calculations. She couldn't do the spell that would produce the graph, but she could at least try a few different "what if" combinations to look at later. Better to put the downtime to practical use than stew over the argument she'd had in the hallway. Prats! But there was no time to think about it. There were other pressing matters.

Professor McGonagall entered the classroom from her office and went to her desk to arrange her notes. While Hermione had never confided in McGonagall in personal matters, she knew that her Head of House was well aware of the situation between her and Ron. It was comforting to know that she could have gone to her, but then again there are some things you just don't want to speak with a teacher about. She had difficulty imaging a situation where she and McGonagall discussed, over tea no doubt, the issues with Ron's sexual inadequacy. The thought made her want to burst into laughter. Of course there were students who went to their Heads for advice about those sorts of things, but Hermione could never bring herself to be one of them. Imagine asking Professor Flitwick for sex advice? Or Professor Snape?

As soon as the thought flitted through her mind, it brought her crashing back to reality. It was a very real possibility that she would have to discuss her sex life with Professor Snape, and soon. While Hermione was sure that she could broach the subject as an adult with no embarrassment or giggling, her concern was that _he_ would not be able to do so. She could just see him sneering away and making comments about keeping her sexual appetite in check. What a nightmare. Her only hope was that the hows and whys would not matter to Professor Snape, just the way to proceed forward.

When Professor McGonagall started her lecture, Hermione was jarred from her thoughts about approaching Professor Snape with her findings. She had to refocus her attention toward Transfiguration. Fortunately, the lecture fit in with her arithmancy agenda. Unfortunately, as per usual, McGonagall asked the class to read the text book before beginning her demonstrations. It was going to be a long class.

Master Suponificus had dozed off in his seat in the quidditch stands while the players took a break when he heard the loud footsteps approaching the landing. He quickly mentally patted himself aware and waited. Hermione Granger rushed into view and stopped abruptly next to the banister of the staircase. "I need to get to Professor Snape as quickly as possible. Can you help me?" Without waiting for an answer, she dashed down the stairs. While he couldn't see her anymore, he could hear the stairs shifting and moving to align in just the right way to provide her with an express route to the dungeons. "Clever girl," thought the potions master as he exited the quidditch portrait to race back to the dungeons.

"Master Snape," called Ignotus as he entered his own portrait in the private supply cupboard. "I have news!" The door opened, much more calmly this time, and Professor Snape whooshed toward the portrait. "What have you divined, Sir?"

"I was unable to see Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger together, but I did manage some very interesting recon about the situation. As per usual, Miss Granger met Weasley and Potter (the name came as though spat through his lips; an inflection he picked up from you can guess where) near the classroom. She attempted to tell them about some arithmantic findings that she was quite excited about, but Weasley went on the offensive which caused an argument. While I don't condone participating in gossip, it seems the rumors about him are true by Miss Granger's comments."

"Yes, yes, but what of Draco? How does he fit into this?" Professor Snape was quickly becoming exasperated.

"Ah, well Potter attempted to smooth things over by changing the subject, drawing conversation toward your potions class. He ranted for a bit about you. Nothing new there of course, but he did seem extremely vexed by Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy working together. He seemed to think that you might have coached Mr. Malfoy to ruin the potion and cause an accident that would harm Miss Granger or to slyly get Order information from her."

"Imbecile!" Turning his back to the portrait, he began to pace releasing a salvo of unsavory language from his mouth. After a minute, he returned to his spot by the portrait and gestured for Master Suponificus to continue.

"Quite right. But, you should have seen Miss Granger rise to your defense! She told Potter and Weasley outright that you wouldn't do such a thing, chiefly because you're an Order member, but also because you have an interest in classroom safety. She also defended Mr. Malfoy, explaining that he wasn't fool enough to mess with potions ingredients, especially if he could get hurt as well. She continued from there to express that she would work with him in any classroom because he's a 'good' student. Additionally, she used the phrase 'houses aside' which leads me to believe that she's interested in looking past house affiliation to gain allies. This is marvelous progress."

"Thank you, Master Suponificus. Your observations have bolstered my confidence that something good can come of this. I wonder if you might…" Ignotus quickly interjected into Professor Snape's request.

"There is one other thing. When Miss Granger exited the classroom, she made a dash to the stairs and entreated them to give her a straight path to _you_. She should be with you momentarily."

"Oh for gods' sakes, why didn't you tell me? I will rejoin you to further discuss plans after she leaves." With that he exited the supply cupboard in a swirl of black robes. His heart was hammering as he took a seat at his desk in the potions classroom. While he was unsure of the content of the impending conversation, he was sure it would be significant to the tide of the war. Reluctantly, he had to admit that the Gryffindor-Know-It-All had become a passionate and astute young woman. She observed more now instead of asking benign questions. She waved her hand less in class and paid more attention to the subtleties of the lectures.

Before he could ruminate further, three loud bangs came to the classroom door. That was her alright. Other students knocked on the door lightly, hoping that he would not be there or not hear so that they could scamper off. Hermione Granger, on the other hand, made her presence known, and she demanded attention. "Enter!" he barked at the empty door and a second later she was in the room. She stopped in front of his desk and held a finger in front of her lips, facially entreating him to wait to speak. Professor Snape inclined his head in acquiescence. Granger quickly dug through her satchel and produced a handful of parchments. She pulled a muggle pen from behind her ear and scratched a note on a corner of a page. "Sir, I have some questions about the Moon's Breath potion we brewed this afternoon."

As she spoke the words, she simultaneously waved her wand over the new note and made the letters float into the air just to her right. They arranged themselves in a short message. "Can we speak freely about Order business here?" Although his face never betrayed it, Snape was impressed that she had the forethought to ask about the security of their conversation. He responded in kind, scratching a note and then speaking as it assembled in the air.

"Of course you have questions. When do you not have questions, Miss Granger?" The message simply read, "Follow me." Snape rose carefully from his chair and proceeded toward his office. Once they were safely ensconced in the walls of the office, which he had placed a myriad of spells and charms on to prohibit spying, he shuffled a hand toward her. "Proceed."

She sat her satchel by the door and approached a table that had just a few pieces of parchment resting on top. "May I, Professor?" She begged permission to lay out her work to better show him her findings. Using his wand, he moved that papers into a neat stack at the opposite end of the table, signaling that she could use the vacant space. As she methodically placed her parchments on the table top, she explained. "For some months now I've been trying to use arithmancy to help predict the outcome of the war. I realize that there are many others who are better qualified to do this kind of research, but when Professor Vector explained arithmancy's uses last year, I thought I might put it to work. I also figured that despite the fact that both sides undoubtedly have Arithmancers working for them, I might be able to provide different variables in the equations concerning the students. Specifically, I might be able to provide 'truer' information about Harry and other students based on our daily private interactions. The first graphs looked a lot like this."

At this moment she pointed her wand at the parchment furthest to the left, said the incantation, and watched the spectral graph appear. "As you can see, Harry, Ron, and I are closely clustered together, separate from many of the other players in the war. It remains this way until this point in time, which I speculated was the Final Battle. These lines represent other students like Padma Patil, Lavender Brown, Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom and so forth. This line, as best as I could input the information, is Draco Malfoy. In terms of camps, he's neither firmly rooted in the Dark nor Light." She waved her wand and the illustration disappeared. Not stopping to gain his approval, she moved along.

"As I added more information to the equations, the timelines became more complicated. The first week of school, the projection looked a bit like this." Her wand moved over the second equation and again the graph appeared. "As you can see, the three of us are still moving together, but the rest of the players have split off in radical ways. These spaces where lots of people come together from both sides seem to represent skirmishes. When lines disappear, it could be a death or someone in hiding. It's hard to tell. So many people are going missing these days. We hope for the best, of course, but sometimes it's hard to even hope. Mad Eye for example." Here she drew in a deep breath that seemed to fortify her to continue.

"Day before yesterday this visualization was still the norm. Every time I produced the graph, it looked much like this with minor changes here and there. During my lunch break I went back to my room to continue working. I was shocked when it produced this." Instead of ending the previous chart, she left it up so that they could do a comparison of the new and old. She waved her wand over the last parchment and the new graph took shape.

"I had an unexpected interaction with Malfoy last evening. I hadn't counted on it changing the course of anything war related, but it seems that for better or worse it has irrevocably shifted the war. And although I don't necessarily have all of the facts at hand, it appears that this interaction spurs something that will give the Light just what it needs to win."

Miss Granger turned to look at him for the first time since she began her "presentation." He knew his mouth was agape, but he just couldn't bring himself to close it. There, clear as day, was the evidence that he needed. Draco would join forces with Granger to help bring this war to a successful end. Potter and Weasley would find their own paths and at the Final Battle, the Golden Trio, Draco, Miss Lovegood, Miss Patil, and he would face the Dark Lord. Not only would they face the Dark Lord, but by the looks of the placements of other lines on the chart, the Light had the numbers to help them in the satellite battles that were sure to occur. He was always aware that Voldemort's flair for the dramatic would lead them to the last confrontation at a place of power: Godric's Hollow, his fortress, Hogwart's, or the ruined Marvolo estate. Still, this would not keep the fray from bleeding into Diagon Alley, Hogsmead, or Muggle London.

Severus Snape sucked in a deep breath, closed his mouth, and looked at Hermione Granger with new eyes. This girl, no this young woman, was going to be his godson's salvation and the reason that they had a hope in hell of winning the war. Although she would likely never know it, he would always be prodigiously thankful that she made her fated trip to the Prefect's Bathroom. "Miss Granger, whom else have you shown this to?"

"No one, Sir. I came straight to you as soon as time would allow."

"Well, that's a start." He began pacing in front of the ghostly image. "It's important to handle this with finesse. Draco is as yet unaware of my role in this war. While I feel that he will be receptive and in time accepting, it may be difficult for him at first." Here Snape paused and looked her squarely in the eye. He was sure Miss Granger's arithmancy was sound, but if Draco chose to fight his obviously burgeoning feelings and his revelation of working for the Light, things could get messy for a while. And time was precious in these difficult times.

"I understand how crucial it is to get Malfoy on board. While I haven't had a great deal of time to consider the situation, it seems best if you approach him first about the Light, if not the Order. I would be happy to debrief him, but I don't want to cross any lines and reveal privileged information."

"Agreed. I'll arrange to have Draco meet me after dinner. You can assume that either he or I will contact you early tomorrow. We'll proceed from there." Snape waved his hand in front of the arithmantic graph and it dissipated, leaving his office unobscured. This indicated the conversation was over. Making his way to the door, he stopped short of lifting the wards upon hearing Miss Granger's voice. "Professor, may I speak freely for a second?"

A small sigh exited his lips as he turned around to face the Princess of Gryffindor House. "If you must, Miss Granger."

"I realize that you, more than others, have many faces to wear during these times. Thank you for treating me as an ally and not a student in these moments. We each have our own motivations, but the result is the same. This war needs to end, and soon. I appreciate knowing that I can trust you and come to you with anything I think might be vital."

"You're welcome, Miss Granger. And if you tell anyone I said as much, you'll be up to your armpits in bubotuber pus." He turned away again, unwarded the doors, and walked back through to the classroom. A smile curled around her lips. As she walked past him, he heard her reply, "Yes, Sir." The minute the door closed behind her, he collapsed into his desk chair. Doubled over with his long black locks shielding his face, he allowed a few tears to dampen the blotter. While the rest of the world was hanging its hopes on Harry Potter, Hermione Granger would in fact be the agent of salvation. And for the first time in seven years, Severus Snape thought that the future didn't look so hopeless.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N Everything is JKR's, and nothing belongs to me. And thanks again to everyone who's hanging on with me. I appreciate you._

_From the last chapter: "Agreed. I'll arrange to have Draco meet me after dinner. You can assume that either he or I will contact you early tomorrow. We'll proceed from there." Snape waved his hand in front of the arithmantic graph and it dissipated, leaving his office unobscured. This indicated the conversation was over. _

When the bell rang to indicate that class was finished, Draco Malfoy gathered his things speedily with the intention of following Hermione Granger from the classroom to wherever she was going. He wasn't exactly sure what he was going to achieve by trailing her, but he felt like it was the thing to do. Earlier that morning, he would've taken the opportunity to pull her into a dark corner to begin to his seductive punishment, but a lot had changed since potions class. In the 30 seconds it took him to let those brief thoughts flicker through his mind, Granger had reached the classroom door – well ahead of anyone else – and made for the hallway.

Silently cursing, he threw the rest of the books into his bag and raced to catch up. His eyes targeted her as soon as he reached the hallway; she was already on the landing. While he didn't want to risk getting caught watching her, she was in a position where he could logically be close to her. If she had wanted to go back to Gryffindor Tower or her room, she would have gone down the hall further to a different set of stairs. With long strides he closed the distance between them. Just as he was about a meter behind her, he clearly heard her whispering. "I need to get to Professor Snape as quickly as possible. Can you help me?" She was already in motion before she finished her question.

Malfoy stood dumbfounded. First, she understood that the castle was sentient. There was no mistaking that she was asking the stairs to give her speedy passage to the dungeons. Second, she was rushing off to find Professor Snape. What could the Gryffindor Princess want with Severus? No one went to see him unless it was absolutely necessary. Most of the students were frightened to death of him and with good reason. If he hadn't grown up with Severus as a fixture in his life, he would be scared, too.

By the time he got his legs moving again, the rest of the students from Transfiguration, as well as a few other classes that were located nearby, were spilling into the corridor. He had no chance of catching her now, so he made his way down the stairs toward the dungeons at a more reasonable pace. Every now and again he caught site of the back of Granger, now pushing through crowds of students to get to her destination. When Malfoy finally passed the Great Hall and walked toward the dungeon stairs, she was long gone.

Although he had taken a few minutes to consider spying on Severus's corridor (for nothing was down that way save the potions classroom and his private chambers), he quickly dismissed the idea. There was no way to know that she was specifically in Severus's chambers, and if she was he couldn't know how long she would be there. Instead he opted to go back to his room. Now that the day was winding down and classes were finished exhaustion was catching up. Upon entering his room, Malfoy quickly dropped his satchel by the fireplace and threw his robe over the chair by the conversation table. He made straight for his bedroom and the extremely comfortable bed within it. Muttering a quick _divesto_, he dropped his wand on the bedside table and curled under the covers and let sleep overtake him.

A few hours later, Malfoy's groggy eyes creaked open. The light in his room was gentle, but it was enough to make him slam his lids shut again. Forcing himself to twist over to his side, he rubbed his eyes and made a second attempt. Although they were half lidded, they remained open enough for him to gauge the time. The clock said it was nearly the dinner hour. "Excellent!" he thought as he pulled himself from the tangle of bedclothes. There was enough time to dress and get to the Great Hall. "Hopefully, she'll be there tonight for dinner." As the thought tumbled through his mind, he stopped as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. It had been less than 24 hours since their liaison in the Prefect's Bathroom, but it seemed he was officially obsessed with Hermione Granger.

Then again, was it really so surprising? While much of his childhood feud had been with Potter, she was always floating on the periphery of his plans. Hurt her and he would obliquely hurt Potter. Then again, she had so much more…. just more, than Potter. Oh she had a temper. No doubt of that. But, she was also cold and calculating in ways that he could relate to. His desire to spy on her, not for Voldemort or to get back at Potter, but to know _her_ was growing. Perhaps they were more alike than he was lead to believe by Pureblood rules he grew up with.

Picking up his wand from where he dropped it, he _accioed_ a clean pair of boxers and the clothes he had _divestoed_. He dressed leisurely and checked himself in the mirror. The glamour on his neck was gone. Of course his nap would have caused his magic to falter. It wasn't unsurprising, but somehow the knut sized bruise was still shocking. Gingerly, he once again reached up to stroke the skin, thinking about the way her mouth had so gently laved the same spot. His eyes drifted clothes and he felt a tingle drift down his back. He had to get himself together. It would do no good to drift off into a fantasy at the Slytherin dinner table.

Taking one last glance at the love bite, he raised his wand to his neck and whispered, "_episky_," and the bruise casually disappeared as though it had never been to begin with. Malfoy felt a small pang at its loss. The only physical memento of her was gone, but another thought swiftly gladdened him. "Perhaps it doesn't have to be the last one." He made for the door and once more, smoothing his face into neutrality, left the dungeons for the Great Hall.

Upon arrival he observed that the tables were only partially filled with students. There were still a few minutes to spare. He took his usual seat in the middle of the table and waited for a moment before discerning that his "friends" had not yet arrived. Instead of sitting silently, he pulled a tiny square object from a pocket in his robes. A quick _engorgio_ and the book returned to its proper size. Professor Sprout had set a rather long essay for advanced Herbology, and Malfoy figured he could use the downtime to make mental notes. After all, Granger hadn't arrived yet and there was no reason to spy on the Gryffindors without her.

While the low murmur of voices around him increased as more students joined the table, he hardly noticed. He was engrossed with his text book, and in the ten or so minutes it had taken for most of the student body to file in, he never looked up from the pages. Suddenly he was jarred from his thoughts by someone ribbing him with an elbow none too gently. "Oi! Drake," shouted Crabbe. "Pass me the potatoes, would you mate?" Mechanically, he reached for the platter of roasted potatoes and passed them along. Mentally shaking himself, he quickly shrunk the book and stuffed it into his robe while simultaneously reaching for a plate of sliced lamb.

Again he focused on what was in front of him and set about eating his dinner. Each cut of meat and was carefully adorned with a bit of au jus and a few minted peas. Watching Draco eat was like watching a surgeon operate. He dissected everything precisely and efficiently. He lingered over the flavors as they melded in his mouth and chewed purposefully so as not to eat too quickly. Eating in the Great Hall was one of the few pleasures he allowed himself on a consistent basis. While he was raised to believe that House Elves were little more than slaves, he couldn't argue that they didn't produce fantastic food. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner were highpoints of his days.

Malfoy had just laid his cutlery aside to reach for another helping of peas when the owls came. Receiving post during meals was always an event. The students cheaped and twittered as much as the birds over who received what. Although he received mail on a regular basis, he was not expecting the tawny brown school owl to drop a parchment note on his lap this evening. The bird carefully alighted to the right of his plate, requesting a reward for a job well done. With thumb and first finger, he delicately picked up a piece of fatty gristle from the edge of his plate and proffered it to the messenger. The bird made a sounds of appreciation, took the scrap from his finger tips, and flew off in a whoosh of feathers to find a perch on which to eat his prize.

He wiped his fingers on his cloth serviette and turned his attention to the note. Tied with a Slytherin green ribbon, he knew at once the letter was from Severus. Discretely, he unrolled the parchment under the table's edge and read the simple instruction. "My chambers, 7:30PM." It was signed "S.S.P.M." He crumpled the note, tucking it in his robes. His eyes slid to the dais at the front of the table, making contact with Severus's for a brief moment. Malfoy quickly ducked his head to assure his assent and then returned to eating.

Surreptitiously he watched as his godson unrolled his note, read it, and wordlessly responded. The wheels were again in motion. He felt like he was having a heart attack. Tonight he would thoroughly reveal himself to Draco in ways that only Albus and the Dark Lord had seen. If Draco accepted his story and rose to his call for the Light, then they could move ahead swiftly. But, if he rejected it in part or outright, he would be forced to modify his memory. A short huff escaped Severus's lips. It was too much to dump on Draco at once, but there was no other way. He couldn't afford to draw him in slowly and reveal bits and pieces of the tale little by little. It had to happen quickly.

The rest of his dinner was less than appetizing, but he knew that he needed to eat. There was no telling when he would be summoned, and it was essential to have a body packed with protein and carbohydrate to hold up to any sort of activity. The Dark Lord, who hadn't eaten solid food since his rebirth, gave no quarter to his minions when it came to eating, drinking, or bathroom breaks. Over the years he had learned a few coping spells to help him get through marathon sessions, many of which were thanks to Molly Weasley's pregnancy books. The extending bladder spell was a particular lifesaver. A growling stomach could be silenced with a bit of bread held in a pocket, but pissing in one's robes was a different thing altogether. No matter the Glory Stories, being a Deatheater was less than glamorous.

When dinner was finally called to a close, he stealthily exited the Head Table and made his way to the dungeons. There was just a half hour for him to prepare for Draco's arrival. Snape's years of training kicked in as he worked through his meticulous plan. It would do no good to go to pieces in the middle of the story. He had to keep it together.

By the time he was pacing in his private room, he felt calm and centered. There was nothing left to do but tell the story, bare his soul, and pray that Draco would be strong enough to turn his back on his father and every other pureblood for the Light. The knock on the office door came too quickly. Severus opened the door to his godson's smirking face. "Good evening, Draco. Come right through." His arm was extended toward the hospitality of his private living room. "Thank you, Godfather." Draco made his way through the familiar path and sat down on a well loved green settee. "Are we playing chess tonight?" Severus passed him and made for the mahogany liquor cabinet. He pulled two fresh tumblers from the left cupboard and from the right, a new bottle of fire whiskey. "Not tonight. We have things to discuss."

No sooner than the sentence fell from his lips, a look of absolute horror crossed Draco's face. Followed very quickly by the mask of fear. Severus could see that he was attempting to school his features, but he was failing under the spy's gaze. "Tonight," he walked toward his godson, sat on the wingback chair opposite, and began to pour two fingers of whiskey into the tumblers, "I am going to tell you the story of my life and the choices I made that lead me to this moment. When I am finished, you will have to make a choice that will, without doubt, affect the outcome of the war. I can promise you that no harm will come to you this night no matter your decision, and I will also promise that I will continue to honor the pledges I've made to you in the past." Draco's eyes were wide as saucers. It was clear that this was not what he was expecting for the evening. Without a moment's more hesitation, Severus started in on his story.

"I was once deeply in love with a woman. She had fantastic red hair, not ghastly ginger like the Weasley brood, but deep and vibrant like blood freshly spilt. Her eyes were green like emeralds, and her laugh was nothing less than infectious. In my mind she was perfect, in all ways.

"She was my childhood best friend. She was also muggleborn. One hundred percent muggle raised. In fact I was the one who informed her, rather snottily if I remember rightly, that she was a witch. And when she received her letter for Hogwarts we were both so amazingly relieved that we wouldn't have to be alone. We had each other." Here he took a small break to let his eyes drift closed and a small smile to form on his lips. Regaining composure, he continued.

"Unfortunately, old feuds die hard, and when she was sorted into Gryffindor and I into Slytherin we began to drift apart. Initially she detested many of the boys in her house and preferred to spend her time with me. We often studied by the Black Lake in a copse of trees, working out homework assignments, creating new spells, and dreaming of the future. In short she was brilliant in every way. She rivaled me and every Ravenclaw in each class. She read insatiably and perfected spells and charms after just one or two attempts.

"But of course, dark times were falling upon us. I wasn't the most popular of boys, particularly in Slytherin House because of my halfblood status. Where Slytherin always exuded the greatest of wealth and privilege, I had none. My mother's family line, the Princes, was the swaying factor in my housing, I believe. I became isolated, cold, and angry. Especially after I became the target of the Marauders, a group of Gryffindor boys who ganged up on me every chance they got. Four or five against one. She did her best to placate my growing anger and dis-ease, but by the time we got to the final straw that severed our friendship, our paths were in motion.

"I was down by the Black Lake studying my potions textbook and had momentarily dropped my guard. The Marauders got the drop on me and very unfortunately, turned one of my own spells against me. I was levitated, turned upside down, and my robes hung limply around my head, exposing my tatty, graying pants and stained undershirt. At her behest, they eventually let me down. She tried to defend me and comfort me, but I was beyond angry and lashed out. At her. I called her 'mudblood' for the first time in our lives. And that was it, we went our separate ways and our paths were firmly laid down.

"My love for her remained unrequited for the rest of her life and well beyond. You see the little girl who was my childhood friend was Lily Evans, who after we left Hogwarts became Lily Potter and later the mother of your rival, Harry. She fell in love with and married my rival, James Potter. But despite that fact, my love and admiration for her remained. I joined the Deatheaters. Did unspeakable things, including creating the serum that keeps the Dark Lord alive, and still my love for her did not fade.

"Eventually, there was a prophecy about an infant child who would be responsible for the destruction of the Dark Lord and his empire. Stewing in all of my anger and hate, I took that information and handed it to the demon himself. What I did not know was that I sealed the fate of my beloved Lily the minute I told him what I knew. Her child fit the specifics of the prophecy. I begged the Dark Lord to let her live, to give her to me as a boon despite her blood status. I groveled at his feet in hopes that he might have some sympathy to the love I held for her.

"But of course, this was exactly the weakness he sought to exploit. His mania was such that allowing her to live was the allowance of a possibility that she would produce another child who could be his destructor. When I found out about his plans for Godric's Hollow, I fled and went to the only person I believed could protect her. Albus Dumbledore.

"He was vicious when he searched my memories with Legilimancy. He knew what I had done, what I was capable of, and where my allegiances led. I begged with him just as I had begged the Dark Lord. I would do anything to save her. In those moments, I took a Wizard's Oath to do anything in my power to help bring down the Dark and all those who associated with it.

"As you well know, _he_ killed Lily anyway and by that time I had taken the oath. And I swore everyday to pay for the mistake I made. I would watch over her child when he came to Hogwarts, protect him with my life. I would spy for the Light at every opportunity, working as a double agent within the Dark Lord's organization. I would prevent needless deaths, provide useful information about attacks and raids, and create escape routes for hostages or targets of Deatheaters.

"I swore allegiance to the Light as much as I swore vengeance on the creature that killed Lily Evans. She was, for most of my miserable life, the only bright spot in my world. The fact that she was muggleborn didn't change that she was kind, compassionate, brilliant, and had a wicked wit. Much like Miss Granger, she was the very thing that violated every pureblood doctrine, ideology, and outright lie told to maintain the blood status quo."

At his last statement, Draco's eyes flashed for his godfather's. The story was a lot to process. He had long since finished his fire whiskey and just took in the words he was hearing. Their meaning was more difficult to absorb. In a matter of minutes his entire world shifted. Just as his father predicted, Severus was the enemy. He was a spy for the Light; he was a mudblood lover; what was happening?

"For years my rage carried me through my duties," said Severus. "I carefully crafted my personas for teaching, the Order, the Deatheaters, and in between. Then the Dark Lord was ostensibly defeated. Such relief I felt, I cannot begin to tell you. And in those early days, I felt something lift from me. I gave myself the forgiveness I needed after all those years. I let her go. Don't mistake me, I carry her in my heart always, but she doesn't consume me the ways she did when I was a young man." At this point Severus reached across the space and laid a hand on Draco's knee. "But I now understand that it was her – her memory, her joy, her laughter – that carried me through every dark moment I suffered. And I'm grateful for that." He sat back again and tugged on the lapels of his robe.

"I don't know if your father is willing to tell you, but Voldemort," and at hearing _his_ name Draco couldn't help but shrink back, "is a mad man. Plain and simple. He's using the pureblood righteousness as his platform because it was easy to bring them over to his side. Purebloods love money, power, and elitism. Voldemort, better known to most of us in our Hogwarts days as Tom Riddle, is a half blood. He's beyond disfigured in body and soul, and the hard truth is that No One will be safe if he comes to power, especially the Deatheaters and purebloods that fawn all over him. They'll be the first to go.

"I don't want you to be among them." His eyes were beseeching. "I know you can't help that you've been brought up to believe that muggleborns are less than purebloods, but you're a man now Draco and it's time to behave, and most importantly _think_, as a man. Think about Hermione Granger for minute. Have you ever bested her in a class? Did she gloat when the outcome of the grades was in her favor? Has she ever tried to cheat on a test or during a class? Has she gone out of her way to find you in order to insult you?

"How often have you done these things?" His mouth was dry as the memories flickered behind his eyes. Every mean comment, every underhanded hex, every single triumph for his pureblood superiority felt instantaneously like the deepest, burning shame he could imagine. She had never attacked him without provocation. She tried to help her classmates. As far as he knew, she did all of her work honestly, never copying from anyone. His godfather's words pierced his reverie pulling him back to reality.

"It's time to make your choice."


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N Thanks again to everyone for sticking with this. I know I don't update as often as you'd like, but I hope each update is satisfying as things go. Thank you for your patience. Once again, everything is JKR's. _

After her meeting with Professor Snape, Hermione was feeling a lot more optimistic about the future. She could now solidly count him as an ally, and she began making plans about how to bring Draco over the Light so they could finish the damn war. Distracted by her thoughts, Hermione had wandered to the library instead of her room. She waved to Madam Pince as she passed and headed for "her corner" near the back of the main room.

From childhood she loved libraries. She could remember how thrilling it was to bring an armload of books back to the central desk only to take another armload away without a cent exchanged. While her parents did reasonably well as dentists, there was something stirring about bartering on the honor system. The responsibility of keeping the books in neat condition and returning them on time made her feel very grown up. There was always a lot of praise and awe involved in her trips to the local library.

One of the volunteers, usually an elderly lady, would take away her "old" books and recheck them. When all was to her satisfaction, Hermione would be given the all clear to go exploring. Each visit was like an expedition. Her small hands would trail along the book spines row by row. Sometimes she would check books out based on how the covers felt. Other times she would pull random cards from the catalogue and check out books only from that section. Then of course there were other times she would try to find books that had not been checked out for some time. Whatever method she chose, the books she would discover brought her great joy – even when their content was too advanced for her to understand.

Her first visit to the library at Hogwarts amplified her feelings about books tenfold. Not only were the books kept there vast repositories of knowledge, but they were also interactive. She could _feel_ the magic when she touched the parchment pages and leather bindings. And it wasn't just the books in the Restricted Section that made noises, levitated, or contained phantoms. Many of the books in the library had a bright yellow strip attached to the spine indicating that there was a "presence" inside.

Before the yellow tags, there were often occurrences where students or staff would inadvertently engage a spell or spirit inhabiting a book not in the restricted section. In fact, Madame Pince's predecessor had gone missing for several weeks, only to return when a group of 4th Year girls were browsing a wizarding romance novel. She didn't look too grateful for her rescue, judging by her partial state of dress and mussed hair. From that point on, the librarians and staff (particularly Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagal) had to handle every book housed in the library and make notes about the properties of each, tagging those with pronounced interactivity.

When Hermione reached her nook, she was satisfied that it seemed undisturbed. Although she had no claim to the space per se, it seemed an unwritten rule that the small study carol and torch lit corner belonged to her. Each time she visited the area, things were just as she left them. Once, she discovered a moldy sandwich at the desk that she had left for nearly a fortnight. From that point on, she felt there was something special about the little corner; surely a house elf would've taken the rotten food away under normal circumstances, right?

She took her usual seat with several books clattering to the desk. One was a text that further detailed the predictive aspects of arithmancy. Another discussed how to overcome difficult workplace relationships, and the last was a medi-witch handbook. For the next several hours, she poured over her finds in minutiae. She had come to a particularly interesting section in the medi-witch handbook about hex relief, when Dobby winked in next to her chair. Hermione let out a sharp yelp and dropped the book on the desk. "I is sorry, Miss. But, Dobby thought you might be hungry as you've missed the dinner hour, you have." He bowed low and looked up at her with bright eyes.

"Oh! So silly of me. Thank you Dobby, I really appreciate the gesture. Could I perhaps have a sandwich and some juice delivered to the Head Girl's room, rather than eat here in the library?"

"Of course, of course. It will be waitin' you when you return." And with that, he winked away. Hermione rubbed her eyes and looked back to her work. Deciding to check the books out and make her way back to her room, she stood and gave a long cat stretch. Ah the relief of stretching muscles that had been doubled over for too long. She collected the books, sought out Madame Pince, and left the library. While there was a lot of work to be done, it was also an evening for thinking and so she let the castle guide her back to her room.

Professor Snape had told her that either he or Malfoy would contact her the next day. She was uncertain what she would do if Malfoy was the one to get in touch. Would he be understanding? Would he be snotty and aggressive? It was difficult to say. God knows what Professor Snape was telling him now. If he was explaining his role in the war and the "truth" about Voldemort and the Death Eaters, Malfoy could well take that as a betrayal. She knew that Malfoy was Professor Snape's godson; she knew that he had been there for his induction into the Death Eater fold. Afterall, he had delivered the news to the Order himself.

Hermione slowed her pace, realizing that she had largely been watching the stone floor as she walked along. Quickly, she surveyed her surroundings and noted she was in an unfamiliar part of the castle. There were doors lining the corridor and a good number of portraits on the wall. There was a particularly attractive painting of a woman with a unicorn ahead of her, nearer the end of the hall. Perhaps she would provide helpful directions.

Before she could move her feet to make her way to the portrait, another student entered the hallway looking rather flustered and upset. He walking quickly but bent over hugging his torso as if there was a wound there he was ineffectively trying to keep closed. He muttered loudly as he made his way toward her. It only took her a second to identify the anguished boy as Draco Malfoy, and when she did she sucked in a deep, audible breath.

His head snapped up, and red ringed eyes burned into hers. His muttering turned louder and directed itself toward her. "You! You did this. He did this. How can any of this be true?" At first Hermione thought he was going to charge her in his obvious anger, but then he folded in on himself even more. The great ruddy ferret, enemy of Harry Potter, minion of the Dark Lord, and overall prat looked pathetic and miserable. It wouldn't do to have someone come along and catch them like this. Quickly, she pulled her rooted feet from their beds and dashed to the nearest door. It was an unused and unloved classroom, piled high with broken desks and junk. Perfect.

Carefully, she approached Malfoy. He lifted his head again to make eye contact with her. "Come on, we can't stay here. Think of what would happen to your reputation if you were caught out." Using levity and her steady hands, she gently cupped his heaving shoulders and maneuvered him into the class room. Immediately she closed the door behind them, raised the torches, and finally shrunk and moved all of the broken desks. That done, she cast a quick set of notice-me-not charms and sound deafeners.

Malfoy stood dazed with his arms wrapped around himself watching her work. Two of the desks transformed into comfortable arm chairs and she gestured for him to sit. His anger reappeared suddenly and violently. "Oh that's exactly what you want. Lure me into complacency so you can enact your plans. You really are a witch of the highest degree. First you seduce me; then you mess with my head. And then! For the coup de gras, you somehow get into cahoots with Severus to tell me all kinds of _lies_ about my father and everything."

As the salvo left his lips, his body straightened and the pain was replaced by something rawer and more sinister. If she didn't intervene quickly, she could be in for the duel of her life. Thinking on her feet, she hoped she could get him to channel his feelings physically rather than magically. She pointed her wand to a broken desk and transfigured it into a hanging punching bag. The red leather sack swayed slightly from side to side. With Malfoy's attention diverted by her transfiguration, she took the opportunity to continue leading him down that path. "Have you ever seen one of these before?" He looked suitably confused and shook his head back and forth to answer. "It's a punching bag. Muggle athletes often use these for training, using the bag to hone their strength, skills, and reflexes. When you hit or kick at it, the bag provides both resistance and retaliation by absorbing your blows and countering in movement. Watch me."

Gracefully, she stepped to the bag and did a quick set of jab combinations, finishing with a heavy side kick. The equipment lurched back toward her after the kick, but she steadied it with her hand. "Try it." Malfoy looked dubious. She was taking a big risk here using something that was _so_ muggle as a distraction. She hoped curiosity would get the better of him.

He eyed the red fixture cautiously. But, he rallied to her challenge. Slowly, he extended his hand to let his fingertips graze the red leather. He pushed off of it and watched how it moved to and fro before coming back to the center. Again he pushed on the bag, this time with the weight of his whole hand. The bag moved further this time with the added force, but eventually came to rest at center. Then, without further prelude, he went for it. Malfoy threw a punch at the bag that landed with a heavy thud. He didn't give the bag time to counter and stop. Blow after blow he moved around the swinging object.

Hermione mused at how rubbish his form was, swinging wildly with no purpose or direction. His fists were balled with the thumb just grazing the center knuckle. All of his energy came from his arms and shoulders while his torso was bent forward to meet the equipment. His wrists turned as his fists made contact with the leather. All wrong, but all indicating that he would use a tremendous amount of energy quickly. He would effectively tire himself out, which would hopefully make him more reasonable to talk to.

As he pummeled the bag time after time, the words began to leak out of him. At first as just a chip in the proverbial dam until a torrent was raging from his mouth. He let his anger, fear, confusion, betrayal, and frustration rip from his chest into the swirling air around him. Eventually, he had nothing more give, and in the middle of a punch sank down to the ground. Tears streaked down his face and his hands came up to cover the traitorous waterworks.

Luckily, Hermione had been observing closely from a corner of the room. She wanted to give him as much privacy as possible to work through his issues before reengaging him in conversation. As he sank to the ground in a heap, she vanished the punching bag as it swung back toward Malfoy's forehead. She quietly walked around the shaking body on the floor and kneeled in front of him. His whole world had undoubtedly been turned upside down. He had said that she had purposefully messed with his head. She could understand how he might see it that way. In the last 24 hours, he had been made to re-evaluate how he felt about her ten times over. Clearly, he had enjoyed their tryst until the end when she left him wanting. There were moments of total honesty between them when he pleaded for her to release the spell so that he, too, could participate in their moment of passion. In those moments she became more than just a filthy mudblood. She was a woman who commanded his attention as a woman. Not as a rival or enemy, but as a desirous woman. That was sure to throw anyone for a loop.

As Malfoy sat shaking, his hands still covering his visage, Hermione felt such sympathy well up inside of her. Here was a young man who was totally unprepared for the shift that had just happened to his whole world, and the person he probably disliked most was watching him break into a thousand pieces. She folded her body over his, rested her chin on his shoulder, and rubbed soothing circles on his back. Softly, she let the words lilt into his ear: "it's all going to work out. You'll see. We'll make it work somehow."

And she knew it would be true.

Draco let his hands fall into his lap, and he turned his head so that their foreheads touched. Slowly, he lifted his eyes to look into hers. Big and brown like dark chocolate or espresso. Suddenly he heard Severus's words in his ears: "Think about Hermione Granger for minute. Have you ever bested her in a class? Did she gloat when the outcome of the grades was in her favor? Has she ever tried to cheat on a test or during a class? Has she gone out of her way to find you in order to insult you?" And again the burning shame crept into his chest.

Here, on this dirty classroom floor, she was whispering words of reassurance and kindness. She enveloped him with the whole of her body after calming him down in her own unique way. His logic said that she should have fled when he rounded the corner of the corridor. She should've left him to his misery and rage. But here they were huddled together.

When Severus had finished his tale and told him that it was time to make a decision, Draco was so consumed with feelings of betrayal that he couldn't think to answer the question or comply with the request. His father had been telling him for years that Severus was to be kept at arms' length. That he was not family and therefore could be trusted with little. That he would turn on him as surely as any other Deatheater. And there was the confirmation in Severus's words. He loved Lily Evans, Harry Potter's mother. He was a double agent working against the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord was a halfblood!

If that was true, then it didn't make sense that pureblood society would rally around him. By blood status, he was absolutely less than the people he surrounded himself with. The Dark Lord treated everyone around him as a soldier – utterly dispensable. They were there to do a job, and if the job didn't get done or wasn't to satisfaction, then they were destroyed. It was nothing short of a miracle if the Dark Lord chose to torture and humiliate instead of out right kill in those instances. Why would purebloods, with prestige and money, _choose_ to live with this? It didn't make any kind of sense.

But of course Severus had answered that question, too. They were promised more prestige, more money, more power if they used their resources to bring the Dark Lord to power. Perhaps in the beginning, before the potion that Severus created, pureblood society thought he would be a quick fix. Let him take the ministry, establish pureblood order, and then overthrow him. Sounded reasonable, but he was more than a man now, and his magical powers were exponential compared to the average wizard or witch.

He had seen first hand the cruelty the Dark Lord inflicted on his "subjects." While he wanted to say that he had become desensitized to all of it – seeing witches and wizards piss and shit themselves under the _Cruciatus_, seeing them beg and grovel for death because the pain was too great, seeing them turned inside out by other Deatheaters looking to gain rank – but every time he bore witness, it became harder and harder to keep the mask of impassivity in place.

Once he asked his father about the extent of the Dark Lord's cruelty. Lucius explained that it was necessary for a leader to show strengths of power. It commanded respect and obedience from servants. Only idiots and incompetents were punished to those extents. While he took the explanation at face value, he also knew that his father had been _crucioed_ more than once for disobedience.

What would the world be like under Dark rule? If members of the Deatheaters weren't necessarily safe from retribution, what would that mean for everyone else? What about Hermione? What would happen to her? Unbidden, images of the revels he had attended filled his mind. Where a nameless muggle woman had been, he now saw Hermione filthy, naked, and bloody flapping around a stone floor. Sodomized and fucked until the holes were indistinguishable. Eyes blinded and blackened from repeated fists and knees. The nausea rose in his stomach, and in an attempt to push the hateful feeling away, he wrapped his arms around Hermione and pulled her closer.

She stopped moving at his actions, but quickly continued rubbing the circles on his back. He could feel her slight breaths warm his ear as she offered her silent support. With complete certainty he knew that he didn't want to live in a world where something so horrible and despicable could happen to her. When it was the nameless muggle woman, he felt awful for her, but she was nameless. She was a singular woman who had serious bad luck. It never tickled his mind that she might have a family missing her. Friends who were worried about her. A lover crying a night because she was gone. Resolve filled his breast that this would _never_ be her.

With careful measured movements, he pulled his face back again and bumped his nose to hers to indicate that he wanted her to look at him. Again his vision was filled by her beautiful brown eyes. The sincerity of the moment let the words come easily from his throat. "Thank you."

She smiled and simply responded with, "you're welcome." After a brief pause she said, "Now, let's get the hell off of this floor and sit somewhere more comfortable." He chuckled and agreed. Simultaneously they each sat back and pulled their arms from around each other. He felt cold at the loss. Standing quickly, he proffered an extended hand to help her up from her spot. She accepted the hand with no hesitation. Draco turned toward her transfigured chairs, assuming that was what she was talking about when she said sitting more comfortably, but she shook her head to indicate she had other ideas. Holding firmly to his hand, she made for the door.

Draco easily complied following her from the classroom that had been his refuge. He marveled at how well her hand seemed to fit in his and how her skin was both soft but worn feeling. He could discern little burn scars and scabs from potions; he could feel where the pommel of her wand rested in her palm. He never noticed so much about such a small patch of skin on anyone. Not even himself. He heard Hermione speaking and looked away from their hands. He hadn't realized he had been staring at them.

"Can we have safe passage to the Head Girl's room without a lot of student interference please?" She was speaking to the staircase. Clever girl. They speedily went down the stairs and connected to another flight. Inside of five minutes they were in front of the Head Girl's door. "Half calf double latte." The portrait of an older witch standing near a bubbling cauldron sprung open, and she tugged him through into her private chambers.

"What does that mean?" Draco was thoroughly confused by her password. It didn't sound like any kind of spell or Latin phrase that he knew of.

"It's slang for a specific kind of coffee order in the muggle world. You know what a latte is, right?" While there were some things that were quite separate from the wizarding and muggle worlds, there was also a lot of bleed over. Foods were a great example of things that were relatively translatable. Although one could argue that the Leaky Cauldron's pea soup was an exception to the rule.

"Yeah, I know what a latte is." He couldn't help roll his eyes a little.

"Well, in the muggle world you can go to most cafes and specialize your order. When you ask for 'half calf' it means the barista uses milk that has half of the fat. Essentially you're saying you want half of the cow. It's how I always order coffee. Double shots of espresso and half fat milk."

"Strange. And what if you don't want any fat in the milk?"

"You say 'skinny' instead of 'half calf.' So the order would be, in my case, a skinny double latte."

"And how do you know just how much fat is in the milk? Why would you want half or no fat anyway? Doesn't it taste weird?"

"So many questions about the muggle world!" Immediately his cheeks reddened, and he turned away from her laughing eyes. She tugged at the hand she was still holding. "I don't exactly know how anyone knows how much fat is in milk. I do know that it has something to do with how farmers process the milk at the dairy. And yes, it does taste different when you have full fat versus non-fat milk. I never could get used to non-fat milk; it's like drinking water that's been sitting for three days. I order half fat because that's what my mum always ordered; she said it was to help maintain her girlish figure." She flashed a cheeky smile while she led him to the settee.

They sat side by side, but while their hands were still joined they both studied their knees. Draco didn't know where to begin. Thankfully, Hermione broke the ice. "So, big evening, eh?" It was corny and totally obvious, but it was a relief and a start. He didn't know how he would've done if she had started interrogating him.

"You could say that." She patiently waited for him to go on. "Since yesterday everything is backwards. Everything I thought I knew is totally different today. I was troubled enough by what happened between us last night, but then I spent time with Severus after dinner." His voice drifted away, and for the first time since getting up from the classroom floor, he let go of her hand. He buried both of his in his hair and let his elbows rest on his knees.

In a flash, she had moved over next to him and was again rubbing the reassuring circles on his back. After a minute, she broke the silence. "Malfoy, maybe this is going to sound obvious, but I feel like it needs to be said. I'm not your enemy. When I was brought into this world when I was 11, I never dreamed there would be people who would hate me completely and utterly because of my blood. All I've ever wanted was to prove that I belong here. I work hard in my classes; I help my fellow students when I can. I've tried to live up to everything it means to be a witch while still maintaining my authenticity to my muggle roots. Is that such a crime?"

"When you put it that way, no it really isn't."

"I know that you've spent a lifetime learning lies about the muggle world and the people who live there. But think of all of the people who are halfbloods you know who spent time living there. Professor Snape is a great example. I understand that he largely grew up muggle, albeit under very unpleasant circumstances."

Putting his hands down, he turned to look at her. It hadn't occurred to Draco, despite knowing that Serverus was halfblood that he had grown up muggle. Severus was such a commanding wizard, and the Prince line was so distinguished (for the most part), that no one dared question whether or not he belonged in the wizarding world. He knew and understood all of the pureblood etiquettes, from seating order at dinner parties to casually insulting someone lesser disguised as a compliment. "Maybe, after you've had a few days to digest everything and let the dust settle, you might consider asking him about the muggle world. You obviously have a close relationship as he's your godfather. I mean, I'm certainly available to answer any and all questions you have, but as this," here she gestured between the two of them, "is so, erm, new, perhaps you'll be more comfortable with the answers coming from him."

She sat silent then and her hand stilled on his back. The moment was broken as her stomach made a tremendous growl in protest of having not been fed. Immediately her hands flew to her tummy, as if rubbing it could quell the hunger growing inside of her. Seconds later, a house elf winked in with a platter of food. Obviously enough for two people. There was a selection of sandwiches, a jug of pumpkin juice, and some pastries. "Thank you so much! I had quite forgotten." The little elf bowed low, letting her ears skim the floor as she popped away again.

"Let's dig in. I'm sure you're a little peckish after your time hitting the bag." Draco had almost forgotten his exertions on the funny hanging sack, but now that she had mentioned it he was feeling hungry. They both stood from the little couch and made their way to the try neatly set up by Hermione's desk. Absently he grabbed for a sandwich as Hermione poured two ample glasses of pumpkin juice. They ate and drank in amiable silence. As he chewed he surveyed her room. It was relatively tidy with the odd book, blanket, or sock lying here and there. When his eyes had traveled nearly 360 degrees, they finally settled on her desk.

He was just taking a drink, when the sight of something caused him to cough and sputter. Alarmed, Hermione moved toward him. "Are you ok? Is something wrong with the juice?" Quickly he coughed his airway clean and composed himself.

"No, no, I'm ok." Draco pointed a shaking finger toward a crystal bowl on her desk. "What are those?" His question was urgent. She followed his line of sight that rested on her grandmother's candy dish.

"They're muggle candies." The statement came out like a question. "They taste like caramel." He could hardly believe what he was seeing. A dish filled with gold foil wrappers. Just like the sweeties his grandmother had kept in her pockets when he was a boy. "Would you like one?"


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N_ Everything belongs to JKR.

_He was just taking a drink, when the sight of something caused him to cough and sputter. Alarmed, Hermione moved toward him. "Are you ok? Is something wrong with the juice?" Quickly he coughed his airway clean and composed himself. _

"_No, no, I'm ok." Draco pointed a shaking finger toward a crystal bowl on her desk. "What are those?" His question was urgent. She followed his line of sight that rested on her grandmother's candy dish._

"_They're muggle candies." The statement came out like a question. "They taste like caramel." He could hardly believe what he was seeing. A dish filled with gold foil wrappers. Just like the sweeties his grandmother had kept in her pockets when he was a boy. "Would you like one?"_

His mind was racing. Carefully, he sat his glass on the tray before it slipped out of his hand. "I think I need to sit down." She had seen him break down and rage just a while ago. He was sure she wouldn't hold it against him if he took a seat. Flopping back onto the settee, a long hard breath whooshed from his lungs. He pulled in a deep breath to steady himself. "I don't know how much more I can take today."

Clearly confused, Hermione sat her dishes down and returned to the couch to sit next to the visibly addled man. "I'm not sure I understand what just happened." She paused and watched his facial features scrunch as he tried to work out the words to use. She didn't want to over step the very new very tentative boundaries of this new whatever the hell it was with Malfoy, but she also wanted to let him know that he could confide in her. After all, the arithmantic equations said they were, at the very least, meant to work together to end the war. That could happen much faster if he felt comfortable talking to her. While she was debating whether or not to continue talking, he closed the debate by speaking.

"When I was a child, small, maybe 6 or 7, my Grandmother Malfoy used to keep sweets in her pockets. She lived with us for a summer while her chateau was being renovated. I remember that her being there was so much fun." Here his eyes drifted shut, and he paused momentarily lost in the memories of childhood. "Grandmother let me get away with so much when Father wasn't looking. I could get dirty; I could yell and scream at the top of my lungs with her. When we would take walks around the grounds at the manor, she would hand me sweets from her pocket as we strolled along.

"She died the first year we came to Hogwarts. I haven't thought about the candy, or her for that matter, in years. And then earlier today, I could vaguely feel the taste of caramel on the back on my tongue." Again he paused, unsure if he should tell her further details that it was her who had spurred these memories. Deciding to error on the side of caution, he chose to see if he could add a few more pieces to the puzzle. "Do the sweets have a name or are they a generic candy?"

Hermione stood from the settee and retrieved the candy dish from her desk, bringing it back to Malfoy. "They're called Werther's Originals. You can buy them in just about any muggle grocery store or Woolworth's. I think they're original to the early 20th Century. They are mostly associated with older people in the muggle world. Funnily enough, there were television commercials that showed a grandfather sharing them with a grandson when I was small."

"Hm. What's a television commercial?" Malfoy looked perplexed. He'd never heard of such a thing.

"Oh, well, hm, how do I explain?" This could be a challenge. Muggle technology was often vastly different from anything in the wizarding world. She was often struck by how many of the designs and machines from the 19th century were still in use in the wizarding world. These things had been replaced a dozen times over by different technologies in the muggle one. "Well, there's a machine called a television, and it shows…. Oh bother. That won't make sense to you."

"What won't?"

"Well I was going to say moving pictures like wizarding photographs, but instead of repeating just a few seconds they go on for 30 minutes or an hour. Does that make any kind of sense?" She looked skeptical that her explanation was understandable.

"Sort of, maybe." He looked like he was trying to envision a photograph moving for 30 minutes. "Who would watch an hour of silent people moving? That doesn't make sense."

"Well, the 'shows' actually have sound added to them, so the viewer can hear the dialogue or music or sound effects. Maybe a better analogy would be a pensieved memory. Except instead of seeing things happen all around you as if you're there, you're seeing it happen in front of you on the television screen." She was starting to wonder what the point of the conversation was and then it occurred to her! "Wait just a minute."

Quickly, she shoved the candy dish into Malfoy's surprised hands and fled to what he supposed was her bedroom. She returned with a small pensieve. "I can show you what television looks like. That is if you'd like to see it."

He didn't know quite what to do. He was more than curious about the strange muggle contraption, but he was also still a Slytherin and knew that he would be vulnerable once he entered her memory. She could obliviate him, or worse. Malfoy stared down at the gold foil wrappers in the crystal dish. What had Severus said? Something about how it was time to act and _think_ like a man. Since their meeting in the desolate hallway, Hermione hadn't tried to start a fight with him. Instead, she helped him calm down. She answered his questions and offered him time to think and get his head together. The decision was made.

"I'd like to, if you don't mind. But first, can I have one of the candies?"

"Of course you can!" Sitting the pensieve on her desk, she once again returned to her seat. Holding out her hands for the dish, he returned it and plucked one of the hard candies from the pile. Hermione sat the dish on the floor and also took a sweet. She covertly watched as he gingerly held the edges of the wrapper between his thumbs and forefingers, pulling the paper tight to unwind it from the treasure within. When the caramel colored candy peeked its head out, he brought it to his lips still holding the wrapper – never touching the candy itself. His teeth plucked the treat from the wrapper and then it was in his mouth. His soft looking lips formed a small, pleased smile as the confection began to dissolve on his tongue.

Watching Malfoy eat the Werther's Original was intoxicating. Hermione could feel her breathing increase as she watched him move the sweet around his mouth, as indicated by the alternating puffing of his cheeks. First one side, then the other, and then back again. His Adam's apple bobbed with every swallow of the sweet, tangy juice. She wanted to lick him.

Draco's eyes opened only to find Hermione staring at him as if he was something to eat. Her tongue darted out to moisten the corner of her lips. He liked it. "See something you like, Granger?" Her eyes immediately found his, clearly shaken by his voice. Instead of blushing, she retorted. "What's not to like? You looked like you were thoroughly enjoying yourself."

At that, she too unwrapped her candy. Instead of being neat and tidy about it, she opened the paper and plucked it with her thumb and forefinger. Instead of tossing the sweet into her mouth, she made a little show of laying it on her tongue and closing her lips around her fingers for a second before extricating them with a pop. Her eyes drifted shut and she made a little sound that was not quite a moan before smiling and saying, "they are good, aren't they?"

It was too much. He couldn't take it. Oh he knew that she was teasing him a little for calling her out, but she was so, well, sexy. After all that had happened in the last 48 hours, was it so impossible that they could be together again? And this time under completely different circumstances. If she rebuffed him, it would be a pang to his ego but he could understand it. There was a lot to sort out between them as well as within themselves. He had more than enough on his mental plate; that was for sure. But, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he could count her as an ally. There was a tremendous amount of risk involved in this line of thinking, he knew. Still, seeing her "thoroughly enjoy" herself was doing things to him that made most of these concerns dim and fade away. She was incredible.

He knew what she saw when she opened her eyes; he was sure he looked absolutely feral. His steely eyes intent on her mouth; his tongue repeating the same gesture hers had made a second before. He waited for her to retreat, to get up from the settee and restart the conversation with a witty remark or some sarcasm. It didn't happen. Her eyes went hot, and she began to lean forward to get closer to him. And then she did something that was totally his undoing.

She smirked.

He reached for her and pulled her flush to his body. He had expected their faces to meet, and then he could have that kiss that had been plaguing his daydreams. But, Hermione had other ideas, dipping her head to side so that she was looking at his neck. Her lips found purchase next to his Adam's apple, and her tongue darted out to moisten the skin there. In reaction, Malfoy craned his neck to give her better access, and she took advantage, leveraging herself more fully into his lap while running her nose along his jawline.

Determined not to be fully distracted by her ministrations, he reached his arms around her and let his fingers trail the length of her back. When he reached the hem of her shirt, his fingers deftly skittered along the edge and made their way underneath. At the new skin to skin contact, she made a soft, high pitched noise. Apparently he was doing something well. Testing the waters, his fingertips moved in small circles around her lumbar, not unlike that way her hands had moved over his own back. He moved them higher, gently tugging at her shirt to cause it to ride higher.

When he reached her bra line, he changed tactics and lightly raked his nails down to her tailbone. She arched into him, burying her face against his neck. A rough, "Oh" escaped her throat. He smiled into her hair. And, in that moment, it struck him how oddly natural it felt to be entwined with her. He felt peaceful. Slowly, ever so slowly, Malfoy drew back toward the plush backing of the settee; he wanted to look at her.

She felt him pull away and wondered what had happened. Fear began to creep through her. Was he rejecting her? Or worse, was this the moment where the Malfoy she had known for six years returned with a vengeance, intent on hurting and humiliating her? "Stupid!" she berated herself. "You know better than this! Moody would be so disappointed." Instead of cowering back or moving away, she pulled herself closer, if it was possible. If he was going to make an offensive move, she would be able to grapple with him. His hands were still on the base of her back, and she knew she would feel him move to reach for his wand, which she assumed was on his person somewhere. Her mind raced, planning how to best stave off an attack.

When his hands began to move, returning from under her shirt to travel up the sides of her body toward her shoulders, she locked her joints and muscles into place as much as possible. If he thought he would be able to throw her from his lap, he was sorely mistaken. When his hands came to rest on her forearms, she mentally braced herself. When seconds went by and nothing happened, her body began to tremble, frustrated at being held in such an uncomfortable and unnatural position. Malfoy's voice, soft, low, and worried broke the silence. "Hey, are you ok?"

She couldn't answer. What was the answer? 'Oh yes, I'm fine, just waiting for you to take the advantage and attempt to _Avada_ me out of existence.' But she couldn't find the words, couldn't express the fear and doubt that had so suddenly consumed her after feeling so much the opposite just minutes before. "Hey, hey, look at me. Please." His voice was hushed and soothing. She wanted to believe that everything was ok, but it was difficult to forget six year of torment. Warily, she drew back, eyes downcast, waiting for his strike. "Hermione. Please, look at me." Her breath caught as her name tumbled from his lips low and breathy. She lifted her eyes, and found his. They were concerned with no trace of malice lingering in them.

His right hand moved from her forearm toward her face to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't know if I have the right words to put you at ease." He gently stroked around her ear saying, "maybe I can borrow yours a little bit." Letting his hand move away from her face, he repositioned both of them to sit carefully by her hips. In a bid to look and sound sincere, he took a non-threatening posture. "I don't want to be your enemy. A lot has change in the last two days, and I have a lot to process and work through. But, with complete certainty I can tell you that I don't want anything bad to happen to you.

Twice today you've saved me from myself when you could've done a lot of other things instead. The fact that you helped me, given our history, is nothing short of amazing. And a week ago, if our positions had been reversed, I can't say that I would've been so good or giving toward you.

All I know is that since yesterday, everything I've ever thought or felt about you has been re-evaluated. And I don't know how or why I'm sitting here with you now, but I'm sure that there's no place else I want to be more at this minute."

Hermione was sure this was the probably the most candid Malfoy had ever been with anybody, except perhaps Professor Snape. It was her turn to be open with him. "Can I show you something?" she queried.

"Of course." Carefully she disentangled herself from his lap. The passionate moment between them had faded, but something new was growing in its place. A kind of trust and honesty that they had not shared before. She went to the corner of the room where her school satchel was lying and found the arithmancy calculations stashed inside. She returned with the now crumpled sheets of parchment. Taking a deep, steadying breath she began. "Since last summer, I've been working with arithmancy to help project the war. Most of the charts have showed me no surprises. Harry and Ron and I were shown as isolated up until the final battle where others fought skirmishes or disappeared from sight. You included.

Then, today during lunch, I made the chart for the first time since our, ehm, meeting in the Prefect's Bathroom. And this is what it showed me." She waved her wand over the parchment and the graph once again rose from the pages and assembled in the air in front of them. "I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Everything was completely different. I tried a number of changes with the runes and equations, and each time the results were more and more frightening. People disappeared sooner, more battles, and an outcome that was unfavorable to say the least.

"When Transfiguration was finished today, I made my way to Professor Snape. Over the course of an hour, I showed him my research and findings. I knew he was the only person I could trust with this. By the time I was finished, his face showed so much relief, I could hardly believe it was the same person I spent six years being hounded by." At this, she turned toward Malfoy who was now standing next to her staring at the spectral image. She clasped a hand with him. "I'm sure he's been worried about you, especially since things have… escalated." She pointedly looked toward his left arm. He turned toward her, a very serious look on his face.

"You know I have a Dark Mark?" She simply nodded. "Severus made several attempts to dissuade my father from sending me to the Dark Lord this past summer. He made arguments ranging from, 'he's too young' to, 'I won't be able to protect him if he's caught at Hogwarts.' But of course, my father would hear none of it." His voice was bitter, and his eyes turned toward his arm, hard and hateful. Shifting slightly, his attention returned to the graph. "Can you talk me through this," he asked using his free hand to motion toward the equations.

And she did, finally finishing with, "And, this brown and silver line," she gestured to the center of the map, "is us. Of course you know that arithmancy is only good for prediction; things change if people make drastic choices. Apparently, my decision to engage you instead of leaving you in peace has changed everything." There was nothing more to say. Deep down, she was still waiting for his eruption, for the hostile boy she had known for so long to reappear. Again, he surprised her.

"For what it's worth, I'm glad that you did." Still holding her hand, he turned to face her and reached for her other one. His hesitation lasted only for a second as he pulled her closer to his body, trapping their hands between their chests. He ducked his head, grazing his nose against hers before placing a soft kiss on her lips. Immediately, she responded, her lips pushing back against his.

The kisses were careful, delicate, as if neither of them could believe they were granted permission to participate in such an intimate act. Sex, while intimate in its own rights, could be enacted in decidedly non-intimate ways. Consensual kissing required both people present, engaged, and literally face to face. For these two people, whose mouths had effused such vitriolic comments pointed toward each other, their kisses were a balm, soothing away the insults into murmurs of affection.

When Malfoy kissed the corner of her mouth and then continued his journey toward her earlobe, Hermione's murmurs became a low, velvety moan. He continued his exploration of her tender skin, reveling in the feeling of it under his lips. She shifted to grant him further access to her neck; he untwined his hands from hers to encircle her, support her as her knees began to give. Just as he reached her collarbone, her knees threatened to buckle. Without missing a beat, he adjusted position to swoop her up with seemingly little effort.

His mouth returned to hers for a more commanding kiss than they had previously exchanged, and when he pulled away, he gave her a questioning look. "How far is this going to go?" His eyes begged the question. She understood precisely what he was asking without saying a word and responded in kind. Raising her torso slightly, her lips found his with eagerness and ferocity that matched his own. She too traveled his jaw by kisses and then, to his surprise, licked the exact spot where her love bite had been and blew on it. Immediately, his skin resembled goose flesh and a pronounced shuddered rippled through his spine. That was all of the assent Malfoy needed as he made his way to the room her assumed was her bedroom.

Nudging the door open with his back, he sidled into the room with Hermione carefully balanced in his arms. The lights from the lounge faintly illuminated the room, and he could make out the forms of the bed, nightstands, armoire, and a few trunks. He laid her on the right side of the bed, and before joining her toed off his shoes. She scooched over to make room for him on the right side, beckoning him to join her with a sweet smile. As he laid his body against the length of hers, their eyes met. Happiness sparked between them, and he couldn't seem to help himself from good-naturedly teasing her. "Perhaps this time I'll get a chance to participate, eh?"

Unwillingly, she blushed a bit but answered. "Definitely."

The couple resumed kissing, and while Malfoy took the "dominant" position, gingerly leaning over her, she had more flexibility in where her hands could travel. They found the back of his shirt where it was tucked into his trousers. In one deft move, she took fistfuls of his shirt and pulled it from his trousers. Her hands slipped beneath, tracing forms with her nails on his skin. After a few minutes of making nonsensical, lazy patterns she decided to escalate things and repeated his movement from earlier. She raked her nails down the length of his and just as she had, he arched into her.

It was impossible to miss the fact that his growing erection was now firmly rubbing against her thigh. Hermione let a brief flashback of their encounter flicker through her mind. She squirmed against him, thinking about how he had deliciously stretched and filled her. Another thought passed through her mind, unbidden but welcomed. One of her hands reached up to cradle his face. "Hey." His eyes returned to her visage from her neck. "Before we get too carried away." She motioned for him to move back so that she could get up.

He did so, and she quickly dashed from the bed, to the lounge, and back again. Her wand was in her hands. The epiphany dawned on him as well. With the tip of her wand pointed toward her abdomen, Hermione spoke the incantation aloud that would effectively prevent pregnancy. It dawned on her that if they were going to be doing this on a regular basis, then it was probably a good idea for her to get on "the potion." While the charms were effective enough, they were a bit impractical. Like a muggle diaphragm, you either had to do the charm in advance (but not too far in advance!) because an encounter was planned, or you had to break up the heat of the moment to cast the charm. And, in a flurry of clothes, kisses, and, ah, limbs, who knew where their wand was at all times?

Laying her wand on the bedside table, she assumed a seductive stance and in a sultry whisper said, "Now, where were we?" She trailed her fingertips the length of her shirt down the row of buttons. She too toed off her shoes and then began to undo the buttons one by one from the bottom up.

Her eager partner had moved closer to the center of the bed and was know propped up by his elbows. He drank in the sight of her unbuttoning her shirt. Before she reached the top button, he stood from the bed and walked over to face her. "Allow me," and he undid the last button with sure fingers before pushing his hands inside the loose garment and moving the fabric off of her shoulders. It pooled on the floor behind her.

Her bra was a simple tan color but he admired how feminine and delicate it looked as it was made with a combination of lace and fabric. It suited her in so many ways. Functional, yet beautiful. Secretly hidden under her clothes waiting to be discovered, admired, and enjoyed. Although he could have waxed poetic about the undergarment, it was keeping him from his goal. Drawing her into his arms, their lips met as his hands attempted to undo the hooks from the eyes. It occurred to him that he hadn't had a great deal of practice in this department as he and Pansy had always perfunctorily stripped before engaging. They never undressed each other.

He tried to surreptitiously peek over her shoulder to help his cause, but to no avail. After a minute of fumbling, without breaking contact, Hermione reached behind her with one hand and did the job herself. Slightly relieved that he was no longer fumbling, he let the straps trail down her arms to reveal her breasts. They were certainly more beautiful than he remembered. For the first time, he carefully reached up and grasped the left one, feeling its weight, texture, and size. Just the perfect size for his hands. Of their own volition, his fingertips made their way toward the nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger with slight pressure.

Hermione loudly moaned in response to his touches. Experimenting, he pinched the nipple this time. She moaned louder. Without shifting their bodies too much, he walked backward until he felt the bed meet his legs. He lugged her closer and fell back on the bed. Unexpectedly, she fell atop his body in a great heap, surprised by his backward motion. They loudly bumped foreheads, each reaching to rub the offended spot reflexively. Hermione's giggling broke the silence, and Malfoy joined her. He marveled at how wonderful and melodious they sounded laughing together, and then she kissed him and they laughed into each other's mouths. It was a new sensation for him, and it filled him with something he wasn't sure he'd ever felt: pure joy.

But of course, the laughing quickly gave way to the lust that had been growing between them, and he maneuvered her to the center of the bed. With great care, he kissed and laved every inch of her torso. Her eyes were closed and quiet smile rested on her lips. However, her hands gave away the tension building in her body. He observed that when he did something she liked a lot, she would convulsively grasp his arm or the sheet. Her body's way of silently begging for more. And when he was satisfied that he had touched every part of her from the waist up, he let his mouth trail down her ribcage while his hands worked to undo the button and zip of her trousers. He absently noticed that hers was on the opposite side from his own zip, but continued his pleasurable task.

She understood what he was attempting to do and lifted her hips in effort to help him wrestle her trousers from her legs. When he finally pulled them free, he flung them behind him with little regard, choosing instead to focus on her socked feet. One by one they joined her growing clothing pile on the floor. As with her upper body, he kissed, rubbed, licked, and touched every inch of her legs. She was smooth and mostly hairless. He could faintly taste vanilla from the cream she used after showering. It wasn't altogether unpleasant.

When he was satisfied with his leg work, he changed focus to the only part of her still covered by clothing. The smell of her arousal hung heavy in the air around her hips, and he could see the fabric of her matching panties changing color where her core waited beneath. He palmed her fabric clad mons, and she bucked hard into his hand, clearly seeking friction to bring her relief from the frenzy he had slowly tortured her into. He pressed back and used the palm of his hand to swirl gentle circles. For the first time, a pronounced "Oh," fled her mouth as her head lilted to the side. Her eyes were scrunched in concentration.

Malfoy sat back on his heels and looked at the woman lying inn front of him. He didn't know the words to describe what he was seeing. Her hair was a mad tangle framing her face, taut with concentration. Her breasts, round and supple, splayed to either side of her chest where he could just count her rib bones. Her legs were bent at the knees and also splayed to either side of her body, open and waiting. She was breath taking.

Again he lowered himself and hooked his fingers into the tan lacey waist of her knickers. Carefully moving her body to remove them, he succeeded in freeing her of the last bit of cloth. Without manipulation or prompting, her body returned to its relaxed, open posture, and he immediately took the invitation to heart. He blew warm air across her moist, reddened vulva. He was surprised at how rose like it was, made with delicate folds. Flattening his tongue, he drew it from the fourchette to the apex in one movement. Her body convulsed, and he repeated the action.

His tongue explored every crevice, seeking ways to heighten her pleasure and bring her over the precipice of orgasm. Eventually, he drew her clitoris into his mouth applying suction and pressure. This caused her to squirm and lift her hips to his face. She needed more. He used his tongue in a short stabbing motion to touch her as he applied suction. That was the key. Hermione began to mumble and toss her head back and forth. "Oh my god; that's amazing. Oh, yes. Yes, yes, Jesus, yes!"

"Who?" At the unfamiliar name Malfoy stopped his ministrations and looked up at her. Had she forgotten who she was with? Exasperated, she breathily returned, "Muggle thing. Now don't stop." He couldn't deny her anything in that moment, so he returned to his work and just a few minutes more she was writhing against. He continued until she began making a high pitched whimpering noise. Her legs closed with his head still between them. Lazily, she looked down at his face, undoubtedly covered with her juices, and reached for him with her hands. As she relaxed her legs a bit, he sinuously traveled the length of her body until their faces met. "Thank you," she softly whispered and then proceeded to sweetly kiss him.

He was shocked that she was so willing to taste herself on his lips, but it seemed that she was always shocking him. Her lips migrated from his to his chin, and her tongue darted out to effectively clean the skin. While he had been nursing an erection for most of their time on the bed, it throbbed in response to her butterfly kisses. He couldn't help but grind against her hip, seeking his own release. Without a word, she reached for her wand on the bedside table and whispered, "_divesto_." Suddenly they were both naked, and the quick realization that his cock was in fact skin to skin with her was almost too much.

Her wand once again found its perch, and she proceeded to guide him to back to his former position hovering over her. Carefully, he lowered himself, pressing their skin together the length of their whole bodies. The time the "Oh," escaped his lips, and his head dropped to her shoulder. When her hand gently encircled his penis, he arched toward her. And when she pulled back his foreskin to touch the sensitive head, he thought he was going to come. In order to pull back from the brink, he recited Quidditch stats from last year's pro leagues. It was just enough to regain control.

She touched him with expertise, running her hand the length of the shaft, manipulating the foreskin, and cupping his balls. If she decided to kill him for whatever reason at that second, he would die happy. But of course she had decided on a very different course of action and at that point drew the head down the slickness of her labia to her waiting and ready entrance. With her free hand she cupped the back of his head and massaged his scalp. His face turned toward hers, and her lips sought out his. Another moan, low and deep, bubbled up through his chest. He couldn't take much more; his hips twitched. Her lips stopped moving with his just long enough for her to let, "yessssss," hiss through her teeth.

And then he filled her. In one slow movement he buried himself inside her warm softness. Their voices mingled in their mouths with low groans. After a minute of adjustment (and a stern self-talking to), he withdrew until only the head remained inside of her. This time with more force, he pushed forward. She arched her back, and while there was space beneath her, he circled her with his arms. Holding her tightly, again and again he withdrew and pushed into her. It was nothing like he imagined. Her vagina gripped him like a warm, velvet fist. It seemed to beckon him forward and hold to him when he withdrew.

Hermione subtly shifted the angle of her pelvis and hitched a leg further up to his hip, causing her muscles to clench more tightly. This was his undoing as he could now feel himself move against her walls with each thrust. He sped his movements, and she met him plunge for plunge. Soon she was contracting and constricting around him, and he would wait no longer. "Oh Gods!" The prayer came unbidden from his lips. He moved all the way through his orgasm, feeling spurt after spurt release inside of her.

Just as he was slowing, her body gripped him even tighter and with a short, sharp whine her second orgasm fell upon her. Although he was beginning to soften inside her, she moved her hips in time, riding her orgasm through in the same way that he had. As her body seemed to completely relax, the remaining strength seemed to leach from his, and he collapsed on her. Their noses bumped, and Hermione took the opportunity to rub hers back and forth with his. More kisses ensued, and the couple – thoroughly exhauseted – fell asleep so entwined in the center of the bed.

Several hours later Hermione's body roused her from deep sleep. Momentarily she was disoriented by the heavy arm preventing her from getting out of bed, but it only took a second for her to smile in remembrance. Carefully, she extricated herself from the bed and made her way to the loo. She was ready to just crawl right back into bed, but spotted her wand on the nightstand.

Silently, she _accio_ed the wand and went into the lounge, pulling the door not quite closed behind her. She thought hard for a moment, trying to arrange the words purposefully but also vaguely. After a minute and without hesitation she said, "_expecto patronum_."

Severus Snape was somewhere near the Transfiguration classroom, doing his evening not-rounds, when suddenly he was surrounded by a blue, grey smoke. He stepped back and brandished his wand, wondering what sort of prank peeves was pulling this early in the day. It was just after 2A.M. But the smoke seemed to assemble itself before his eyes, and quickly the form of an otter came together and then began to swim around his body. After a few seconds of circling him, the patronus animal floated before him. Hermione Granger's voice echoed through the silent hallway. "I found a dragon this evening. It was rather incensed, but I seem to have calmed it with sandwiches and sweets. I daresay it will be better in the morning." The otter's mouth closed, and it swam in a figure eight for a minute more before dissipating.

His head had been heavy since Draco left his chambers. In the end it was simply too much to digest for him to decide on the spot. He was, understandably, furious and hurt. But, he was also (thankfully) relatively rational. Severus managed to get him to take a Wizard's Oath that he would not reveal the conversation that had passed between them that evening. The oath would be released when he came to him over the weekend to let him know his decision. Draco understood the ramifications of the oath. It was a protection measure for both of them, and insurance against his possible stupidity.

He had exploded from the room, and although it had hurt Severus to let him go, there was nothing he could say to comfort him. Hearing Miss Granger's message unburdened him immensely. He decoded the message easily, knowing that she and Draco had met, perhaps fought or argued, and then began to mend the rift between them.

Ever mindful of his position, he proceeded along his usual route and made his way back to the dungeons. And, under a myriad of protections, he laid his head to rest on his pillow. Morpheus granted him six good hours of sleep for the first time in as many years.


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N Everything belongs to JKR; I own nothing._

Thanks again for keeping with this story. I know it's a long time between updates, but I'm grateful for the enthusiasm and positive comments I receive from readers, letting me know that this is something worthwhile to pursue.

In that uncertain place between sleep and awake, Draco Malfoy became aware that his face was covered with something. It was soft but coarse at the same time, and when he took an experimental breath, it seemed to fill his nose. It smelled spicy and sweet, like cloves and vanilla. He nuzzled closer to it, feeling the unusual blanket smooth across his face. It tickled his eyelids, and when he went to lift an arm to brush the sensation away, found that it was held firmly in place.

He wriggled his fingers, feeling what was probably a comforter, sheet, and something else that was soft, almost silky, but not quite identifiable. Sleep was definitely further away than awake at this point as he unraveled the mystery of what was surrounding him. Slowly, quietly, he pulled his head away from the soft, fragrant mass, cocking it to the side and allowing his eyes to creak open just a crack. Brown. Lots of brown filled his limited vision. His lids slid open a fraction more, and soon some texture was discernable. Strands corkscrewed and looped together, and the color was more multifaceted than just brown. There were hints of bronze and copper glinting in the early morning light.

Suddenly, he felt the whole mass in front of him shift. Specifically, something round and soft was rhythmically rubbing against his groin. Consciousness flooded his mind as images of the previous night washed over him. A content smile sprang to his lips, and he once again buried his face in the soft tangle he now recognized as Hermione's hair. He hugged her tighter to him and entangled his fingers with hers. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so peaceful upon waking.

His peace didn't last long, as Hermione continued to sinuously move her hips against his. His body moved of its own volition, thrusting gently to meet her. Unsure as to what the protocol was for the situation, he continued to move with her, hoping she would wake and take the decision out of his hands. After a minute more, she stopped moving and snuggled into him, once again heading for deep sleep. At this point, his erection was trapped between her bum and his stomach, with little hope for attention or release. Despite his discomfort, Draco held onto her, content to just be there in the moment.

Just as he was about to doze off, a sudden sharp pain ripped through his left calf. He sprang from his comfortable position, rolling Hermione over in a great heap, as he clutched at the wound on his leg. "What the hell?" Hermione's sleepy, but irate voice filled the room. She sat up, hair surrounding her like a haystack, and surveyed the scene. "I've been attacked!" said Draco. He removed his hand from his leg, only to find his fingers covered in blood. Eight distinct scratches streaked from just below his knee, ending three quarters of the way down his calf.

Suddenly, a dark orange cat with a smashed face and bottlebrush tail sprang onto the bed, seating itself on the far bottom corner. There was no other way to describe it; the cat looked smug. "Crooks!" Hermione shouted. "You naughty kitty. Get off this bed this instant!" He'd heard her use that chastising tone of voice more than once, usually directed toward Potter or the Weasel. Typically, when she used that voice, she meant business. Where her idiot friends were instantly contrite, the cat merely waved its tail once and sniffed at the air as if it was offended by a bad smell. "Oh, you damn thing." She was off the bed now, tumbling out of the opposite side and heading for what he assumed was the loo.

She returned to his bedside carrying a damp washcloth and container of something he didn't recognize. Still naked, she kneeled on the floor next to him and began gently washing the wound with the cloth. When it was clean to her satisfaction, she untwisted the cap from the obviously muggle tube of what appeared to be an unguent. "It's an antiseptic cream to keep out infection. Cat scratches are particularly nasty, and if untreated you could end up with scars." Rubbing a glob of the ointment between her fingers, she smoothed it down the length of each scratch. Her fingers were delicate and sure, causing no additional discomfort while she worked.

With the last scratch cleansed and treated, she replaced the cap on the tube and wiped her fingers on the clean side of the washcloth. Then she reached for her wand on the bedside table and quickly cast a spell over the affected area. He felt his skin simultaneously warm and tingle. He raised a questioning eyebrow toward her. "Invisible bandage. Handy for minor cuts and scrapes that don't need a lot of treatment but should be protected." Once again she replaced her wand and cast her eyes toward the bed's corner where the culprit was still sitting. She huffed and the cat stood, turned once in a lazy circle and then curled up on itself – facing away from them.

"This is what I get for taking pity on a poor, ugly half-kneazle. There's just no taming him." She turned to look him in the face for the first time since they had been rudely awakened. "Then again, there are some things that are intrinsically better because they're untamable." A crooked smile curled on to her lips, and she proffered her hand. "Shower?" He reached to take her hand and stopped midway remembering the blood coating his fingertips. Instead, he showed her his bloody palms and scooched to the end of the bed so he could properly stand without her assistance. "Sounds good."

He followed her toward her bathroom, which was spacious and light. That was the big difference between their rooms. She had natural light from her windows. Although there were windows in his suite, they were charmed to reflect the time of day. Somehow it just wasn't the same, knowing the sunlight was artificial. Her loo had a large stained glass window (which thankfully did not have the visage of a person or creature moulded into it), in addition to two smaller clear paned windows on either side. Like his, she had a separate tub and shower space. "You can use the toilette first if you need to," she gestured toward the corner where the cubicle that held the toilette was located. She walked toward the shower enclosure and turned on the water, stepping under the spray with no hesitation.

As she suggested, he used the toilette before joining her under the steaming water. He had just closed his eyes and leaned into the water as he felt her gingerly touch his back. He couldn't help his over-reaction as he swiftly turned away from her and backed into the corner. He couldn't bear to open his eyes to see her face, the disgust he was sure he would find there. And he didn't care that he was cowering like a frightened child. It was too much to take.

When Malfoy had turned into the spray from the shower, she thought she might do him a service and give him a good scrub. It only took Hermione a moment to soap a sponge and turn back to him. As she approached him, enjoying his relaxed posture, she noticed the marks on his back. Clearly they were scars, heavy thick ones that looked like fat, pink leeches that crisscrossed his skin. Was this Voldemort's work? Or, someone else's? She reached with a gentle finger tip and stroked one of the scars. No sooner had her skin made contact with his than he whirled around and shrank into the corner. Once again, she was seeing the Great Malfoy, with all of his clout and pureblood prestige, vulnerable and beyond distressed.

Hermione laid the soapy sponge on the shower rack and slowly approached the young man crouched toward the wall. His eyes were closed, and fear heavily mottled his features. Tentatively, she extended her fingertips to touch his trembling shoulder. Just as she was about to make contact, she thought better of it and retracted her hand. Sudden touches, no matter how gentle, might be uncomfortable for him, and Hermione decided to try a different tactic instead. She moved next to him, close but not enough to touch, and started to gently whisper reassurances in his ear.

Her voice was soft and gentle, but it seemed to have little effect. His posture, tightly strung, remained the same. After several minutes, it was clear that her words were doing little to help the situation. Unsure of the best course of action, she eventually decided on a different tactic altogether. Feeling along the shower wall, her hand came into contact with the shower spigot. She twisted it until the water stopped, and looked back at Malfoy before quickly retrieving a fluffy red towel from the linen closet. Resuming her place next to him, she carefully draped the cloth around the front of his body as best as she could manage.

She wasn't sure if this was entirely the wrong thing to do and kept careful watch of signs that he might lash out. Although she wasn't completely settled with the idea that he wouldn't somehow become his hateful former self, she felt relatively sure that he wouldn't attack her. Carefully, she fitted the towel around his frame and coaxed him to the shower floor, continually reassuring him that everything was okay and that no one would hurt him.

They sat quietly together, and little by little the tension seeped from his body. Noticing the change in his posture, she sidled closer to him to absorb his body heat. She had forgotten to get a towel for herself, and now Hermione was shivering from head to toe. She did her best to keep the shaking to a minimum, not wanting to disturb Malfoy prematurely. Still, she couldn't stop it completely and it wasn't long before he noticed. "Oh, Hermione," he whispered. His voice tinged with sorrow and bitterness. "I'm sorry. You took me by surprise, and I guess I just…" As his voice trailed off, he shifted so that he could bring her under the towel as well.

"It's okay," she replied. "I can understand how you were caught off guard." She knitted her fingers together under the warm terry cloth, debating whether or not to ask her question. "Do you want to talk about it?" Tentatively she lifted her eyes to his face. She could see the concentration and indecision set in his features. This whole _thing_ was still so new, and a little scary, that both of them were uncertain just how much to reveal.

His eyes closed, and his face relaxed. It looked like he was about to make an excuse, and Hermione figured she'd beat him to the punch. "Hey, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. We've both experienced things we'd rather forget." A grateful sigh escaped through his lips. "Thank you." He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers, gazing into her eyes.

Although she had done her fair share of fantasizing about him, she had never really had the opportunity to just look at him. Even during their tryst, she hadn't spent a great deal of time focusing on his face, and suddenly she was regretting that she hadn't made better effort to do so. Her memory of watching him as she rocked her body against his was watery and obscured by her thick brown lashes. In this moment, she could finally appreciate the depths of his eyes. A strange swirling mixture of blue and grey, the color of clouds before a storm. It wasn't difficult to be transfixed by them.

In fact she was so caught up in staring, that she scarcely noticed how he angled the crown of his head to bring their lips together. Instinctively, her eyes closed as their lips met, and she quickly scolded herself for being distracted. With a bit of effort, she opened her eyes, disappointed to find his fully lidded. Not willing to break the kiss to request that he open his eyes, she closed hers and focused on the intensity of the feeling. The feeling of the fire building between them.

What had started as a kiss of gratitude quickly transformed into one of desire and need. Draco again was in a position where Hermione had helped him through a difficult emotional moment. When she had carefully touched his scarred back, he withdrew from her, fully expecting her to lash out. He expected her revulsion and disdain. What he received was patience and calm understanding in the face of his defensive behavior.

It was, after all, the first time a non-Slytherin had gotten a close look at his back. From the front, Draco was the epitome of the male species. He was tall and his frame was slender, but not thin. His body worked with long, ropy muscles that were well disciplined and toughened by Quidditch and exercise. With only a few calluses on his hands from potions and wand work, his skin was unmarred.

His back was another story. And it told a similar tale to the ones of his pureblood housemates. What in many circles, and certainly in muggle culture, would be called child abuse, pureblood families called "tough love" or "discipline." Pureblood children, with all of their privilege and prestige, had much to live up to, and it was the responsibility of every surviving generation to teach those lessons until they were known by heart. It was always best if the lesson only had to be taught once; further instruction meant being reprimanded for a host of sins – stupidity, sympathy, and familial disrespect chief among others.

When the Slytherin Quidditch team showered together, none of them were surprised by the various scars and welts that marked their flesh. None of them commented about them. They would not trade "war stories" about their experiences. This was the reality for purebloods with money and social standing, both boys and girls. The difference between the genders often came down to placement. He knew that Pansy had a fair number of scars on her body, but hers were in inconspicuous places, strategically inflicted so as not to make her body disgusting to a potential partner. She had a pretty nasty scar on her scalp that wouldn't grow any hair; she had to cut and style it just so to conceal the bald spot.

Because it was normal for most of the people he associated with to have similar scars, it hadn't occurred to Draco to cover himself in the shower. But, when her fingertips reached out and stroked along one of the pink grimaces, it was all too much. He was ashamed. Why would she want to touch that? The depths of her understanding and patience seemed bottomless, and when he finally came back to himself and understood that she would not mock him or run away, he felt ashamed that he had really over-reacted. More so, that he had assumed how she would behave when it was counter to everything he had learned in the last 48 hours. Secretly he knew that she was made of tougher stuff than he was.

And he was thankful for that, so he kissed her hoping she would feel and more importantly _understand_ everything he could not tell her. Whether or not she did, her body reciprocated in kind. Her lips worked with his becoming more urgent with each passing minute. She tasted sweet, and the memory of the caramel candy came back to him. His tongue sought out the crevices of her mouth, greedily seeking more of the flavor.

The towel slipped down their bodies, pooling around their hips and knees. Needing so much more than her kisses, he maneuvered the towel by feel to stretch across the cold tile floor next to them. Gently, Draco pushed his weight against Hermione's and guided her to the towel. Her body, supple and yielding to his touch, did as he silently requested. In the brief moment it took for her to rearrange herself, her hands shot out, seeking his own. He managed to twine his right hand with her left while supporting himself with his left forearm. She brought their hands close to their bodies so they were trapped between their chests, his rubbing softly against the side of her breast while hers mirrored the action against his own.

A moan echoed through the room, and he wasn't sure if it had been hers or had escaped from his mouth. He didn't care. He could feel her spread her legs wider to urge him forward. She silently but feverishly begged him to push home and fill them both with the enormity of the moment. He could deny her nothing, and after an awkward moment of leaning his full weight atop her while lining his rigid cock with her entrance, he felt her warm, engorged folds draw him inside her body. A mutual sigh rose from their chests, and Draco lingered for a few seconds before withdrawing.

Where Hermione had been largely in control, he now took the lead. Quickly, sharply he thrust against her and their pelvises contacted in an almost painful way. With no hesitation, he pulled out nearly all of the way and slammed back into her. To gain further traction, he loosened his hand from hers and lifted his body in an extended press up. With each plunge she clung tighter to him to keep from sliding the length of the floor and into the wall. He could feel her wrap her arms around his torso, brushing the scars as she did so. His resolve strengthened and he pushed harder if it was possible, feeling the tightening in his groin that signaled orgasm was near.

His mind was a jumble. He worried that she wouldn't get there. He worried that he was hurting her. He worried that she would ask him to stop and he wouldn't come, or worse would be left to wank while she sorted out her bruises. All things rational and irrational drifted through his thoughts. Fortunately, she broke the moment by whispering in his ear: "Just let go."

Clenching, tingling, and darkness heralded the onslaught of his orgasm. He moved through it, feeling every inch of his shaft rub and glide against her body. Spasm after spasm rocked through him, and eventually he could no longer support himself. She caught him in her arms and held him close, rubbing circles in the back of his damp hair. As his body relaxed, his penis softened and withdrew from her vagina, and in his quiet contentedness realized that Hermione had not, in fact, had an orgasm. That would not do!

While his body wanted to drift off to sleep, his mind insisted that he snap out of it and finish the job properly. He lifted his head from her shoulder to nuzzle his way up her neck to her ear. "Now dear, how shall we finish you?" She sucked in a staccato breath, unsure of how to answer. Chuckling at her befuddled state, he playfully nipped at her ear before traveling back down her neck to her collarbone. It looked delectable, and so he set to work creating a knut sized love bite just below the bone. His tongue lavishly laved the skin and his teeth massaged the spot while he applied suction.

As he was working away, his hands were busy exploring her body. One came to rest at her right breast, tweaking and teasing her pink nipple, while the other skittered up and down her ribcage. Satisfied by his handiwork, his tongue trailed lower, down her sternum, dipping briefly into her belly button before stopping just above her thatch of manicured hair. His nose picked up where his tongue left off, inhaling the heady perfume emanating from her body. The combination of her fragrance, their sex, and his seed swirled around his head. If he could bottle the scent, he had no doubts it would make a fortune. It was intoxicating to say the least.

One at a time he drew her legs further apart and positioned his shoulders under each hamstring. Blowing warm breath across her vulva, he could see her clit stiffen and swell with expectation. With little teasing, he set to his task and took it between his moistened lips. Rolling her engorged organ between his gentle lips, he could feel her hips begin to rock in time with his movements. Changing tactics, he released her clit and stroked her labia with his tongue. First one side, then the other. He lapped at her folds, bathing his face in her velvety juices. Savoring her scent and taste was a total experience. The only thing in his world at that moment was her body and the desire he could feel thrumming through it at his touch.

She was mewling by then, and he could see that she was roughly grabbing her breasts and pinching her nipples. He stroked her lips with his tongue, swirling it in runic patterns that spoke of awe, devotion, and respect. His fingers soon joined the dance as his right index finger circled her opening and then applied pressure to the perineum. Her body clenched, hoping to trap the digit and pull it inside to reach an ache that she could not verbalize. Watching her muscles clench enticed him to further circle opening and then dip inside for a moment or two, feeling the heat of her body set his skin alight. He removed his finger, and she whimpered at the loss of contact.

Smiling against her thigh, he returned his mouth to her clit, suckling it while carefully using his teeth for further stimulation. She arched her back in response, bucking hard against him. Further testing her responses he continued his oral ministrations and added manual stimulation as his first and middle fingers found purchase inside her vault. Slowly, ever so slowly he pumped them, in and out, in and out. He scissored them inside her body, feeling the slickness of her walls.

It was becoming more difficult to maintain control of her lower body. Hermione moved in time with his strokes, but her hips lifted and lowered in jerky motions, and her moans were becoming louder and more pronounced, throwing sound throughout the room from tossing her head left and right and back again. She was close. Ready to give her release, he sucked on her clit while stabbing it with his pointed tongue. His fingers curled inside of her and to his left he found the dense spongy tissue that he knew would heighten her pleasure. His hands and mouth worked in tandem until she was speaking utter gibberish, at points repeating the name that had stopped him the night before.

Then her orgasm hit, powerful and strong. Her vaginal walls clamped down on his fingers. He could feel them pulse every time her body forced her to relax and tense in succession. When her body quieted, he removed his hand from her center and his mouth from her clitoris and made his way back up the length of her body. Kissing her salty, sweated skin as he went, he enjoyed her flavor and fragrance as his lips finally met hers. Again, with sleepy half-lidded eyes she said, "thank you," and gave him a lazy smile.

Sucking in a deep breath, she continued, "I suppose we should get off this floor and actually take that shower. I don't suppose we smell better than we did over an hour ago." He playfully tickled her ribs. "I don't think we smell ripe at all. But, yes, a shower would be great now." And together they rose from their prone position. Hermione grabbed for the towel, her legs trembling beneath her. Draco supported her waist; his patented smirk – proud and prominent – rested on his lips as he held onto her while she tossed the towel out of the stall. Reaching behind, she turned on the water, and they were both blessedly covered in the hot spray from the nozzle.

Stepping away from her when he was sure she could stand alone, he turned and found the sponge she had earlier soaped. He tried not to think about having his back to her, knowing he would eventually need to explain it to her. The best he could do in the moment was shove the thought away and resoap the fluff ball. "Here," he said, turning back to her, "let me wash you first." Silently she complied and lifted her arms above her head to give him access to the front of her body.

The act of washing her wasn't sexual per se, but certainly an act of care. He sponged and massaged her skin from fingertips to toes, ensuring she was totally cleansed. When he was finished with her back, he gave her bum a playful pat. Turning back around to meet his eyes, she asked, "Shall I return the favor?" Her voice was light, but the question was heavy, hanging in the steamy air all around them. Given his previous reaction to her innocent gesture, it was understandable that she was unsure.

He rationalized for a moment. Something was growing between them, something important. He could feel how much he already cared for her, and he knew that he would not be able to go back to how he felt before. Between their meeting in the Prefect's Bathroom, the conversation with Severus, and the way she continually saved him from potentially destructive moments, he was questioning everything he had ever believed. Soon enough he would reveal the details of his private life, just as she would reveal hers. Hadn't they already started the process?

He made his voice reflect her tone. "Please do. It would be a shame if I had to do it myself." The tension broke and she proceeded to resoap the sponge and work it across the front of his body. As she worked, she trailed her hands against his skin, leaving suds in her wake. She discovered his armpits and hips were a little ticklish, forcing him to double over and tense his muscles. His cheeks reddened at her discovery. Without missing a beat, she circled around to his backside and went about washing his back as though it was an expanse of pure, unmarked skin. She had done the same with his Dark Mark. Business as usual.

When they finished, it had been hours since they first stepped into the bathroom. A fresh set of clothes were neatly folded on Hermione's bed. "The House Elves don't miss a thing, do they?" she chirped. A set of his weekend clothes were waiting for him, and his soiled uniform and robe were missing – collected for washing by the elves. "No, they really don't." The black trousers and Slytherin green long sleeved mock turtleneck were casual and comfortable, but still made him look regal and commanding.

Hermione had donned a pair of black, tight fitting trousers that hugged her like a second skin and a pink long sleeved t-shirt. She wore what appeared to be ballet slippers on her feet. "Strange trousers…"

"Ah," she twirled to give him the three sixty view. "They're called yoga pants; I bought them when I was in America last year visiting my cousins. I realize they aren't very attractive, but they are very comfortable." He came up behind her and enfolded her into his embrace. "Oh they're attractive alright. Hugging every inch of your legs. Good thing you don't walk around the castle in those. I'd have to be hexing blokes and a few girls right and left, I daresay." Hermione put on her phony American Southern accent. "Oh you're such a flatterer!" Dropping the accent she continued, elbowing him gently in the ribs. "Why don't you go order us a little lunch while I start a batch of contraceptive potion?"

"Yes, that probably is a good idea. Wouldn't want you facing down the Dark Lord pregnant, now would we?"

"We wouldn't want me pregnant at all you pillock. Now get going before I decide to hex your balls as a form of birth control instead."

"Alright, alright," he backed away in mock surrender. "You Gryffindors sure do drive a hard bargain."

"Oh you have no idea." With that statement, she gave him a cheeky wink and retreated to her cupboard where her potion equipment was kept. 


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N Everything belongs to JKRowling._

_I do apologize for the lateness of this chapter. In addition to my grad duties, I've been suffering from some serious writer's block. Some sections of this story, I know so clearly. This, unfortunately, was one stepping stone that I had to blunder through. Throw stones if necessary. Will try to do better. Thanks again to all the readers sticking with this. You're each a gem._

Hermione made her way to the closet in her bedroom. While it contained most of her clothing and shoes, it was also the ideal place to store some potions ingredients. It was dark most of the time with a controlled temperature and humidity rate. Herbs were especially well kept in there, and that was exactly what she needed to brew contraceptive potion. The main ingredients were roots from western false hellebore and raspberry leaves. Fortunately, she had plenty of these in her private stash.

Although she had (deservedly, she admitted) gained a reputation early on as a know it all, she had also gotten one as an entrepreneur. Where the Weasley twins made extra money with their WWW products, she was able to earn extra cash by brewing for the students. The opportunity first presented itself in third year when Lavender woke one morning with a very unfortunate spot in between her eyes. She dashed to Madame Pomfrey for something, _anything_ to remove the offensive blemish, but Poppy Pomfrey shooed her back to the dormitory. Ever the pragmatist, Madame Pomfrey felt that it was character building for young witches and wizards to go through the standard rights of passage from acne outbreaks and the Hogwarts Huskies (sometimes known in muggle universities at the Freshman 15) to ballooning breasts and spontaneous erections. These ailments would typically cure themselves with time and hormone fluctuation, no potions or poultices necessary.

When Lavender returned to the dormitory distraught, yammering away that Poppy Pomfrey was a sadist, Hermione handed her a little jar of cream. It was "just something she whipped up" in her spare time to take care of little spots and red marks. Within minutes, the huge glob that Lavender applied to her spot had worked its magic. Soon enough she and half the girls in Gryffindor dormitory were begging her for batches of potions. As they got older, contraceptive potion became one of her most requested potions. Although any student could go to Madame Pomfrey and get on the potion (which worked well enough for both men and women with slight variations between brews), many were embarrassed to do so for fear that other students, teachers, and worst their parents, would discover that they were sexually active.

Professor Snape, to his credit, had insisted on teaching both contraceptive charms and potions to his students. Hermione knew that many of her classmates relied on charms as brewing in the dormitories could be a problem. Potions was a delicate art, and even subtle contamination could ruin a brew. With so many unknown variables happening in the boarding rooms, few chose to brew in house so to speak. It was quite a feather in her cap that people trusted her to brew in those conditions when they would not do so.

When she and Ron had begun their sexual relationship, she brewed special contraceptive potion for herself. Of course she knew that, according to _Hogwarts: A History_, students and teachers were protected from pregnancy by the school wards that covered the castle and grounds. If someone, a teacher for example, wanted to become pregnant, than she would need to see the headmaster or headmistress to make an exception in the wards. Still, she wanted to be doubley sure that there would be no surprises in that department. Mediwitch contraceptive potions included fluids from all parties involved to insure maximum protection. Semen and menstrual blood were best, but saliva and general blood also worked.

It was with this in mind that she began her new batch of contraceptive potion. She quickly and easily found her rhythm as she gathered the ingredients, set up her cauldron in the bathroom, sterilized the area, and prepared her base. She swayed and hummed while she chopped her roots. It was only when she turned to check on the base's temperature that she noticed Malfoy standing by the bathroom door. "Oh, hey, that's good timing. I need you." She walked, well stalked, toward him, and she guided him away from the bathroom (no sense in contaminating a perfectly good work space) back toward the bed. "Lunch all taken care of?"

"Absolutely." The one word answer was all he could muster as her hands were walking up and down his torso. Hermione didn't bother to respond; she merely stepped into him and gave him a firm, deep kiss. He caught on quickly, returning her ardor and wrapping his arms around her. Instead of returning the embrace, her hands drifted toward the waistband of his trousers and went to work on the buttons and zip.

It was short work. Her right hand was dipping in through the opening and snaking its way through the hole in his boxers. When her hand made contact with his semi-hard cock, he groaned into her mouth. Two strokes and he was as hard as a tree trunk. She continued slowly, rhythmically pumping his shaft. Up, down. Up, down. She smirked when Malfoy broke the kiss and let his head drop to her left shoulder. That was her cue to move things along. She kissed along the side of his face and licked the length of his neck in time with her steady handjob. Something between a whimper and groan escaped from his body.

Carefully steadying him with her hands, she sunk to her knees. At first Malfoy wobbled, surprised by her movement toward the ground, but his hands gained purchase on her shoulders and he used her to support his unsteady weight. Satisfied that he would not fall over for the moment, Hermione tugged his trousers and boxers down to his knees, revealing his rigid prick. Before beginning her task, she noted the faint pulse that made his penis twitch. She memorized the length, girth, color, and unmistakable curvature to his left. As penises went, it was a beautiful specimen. She licked her lips in anticipation and leaned forward, placing a delicate – almost reverent – kiss on the weeping tip.

Malfoy's body violently jerked at the contact. His sudden movement caused his cock to slap her in the mouth. It seemed his dick was feeling rather persistent. Needing no further indication, she grasped him at the root and enveloped the head into her mouth. Sucking hard, she elicited another moan from his mouth. The weight on her shoulders increased as she began to bob her head quickly back and forth over the head. As she worked, she pulled his foreskin back with her free hand to increase his sensation. The hand that held his base did double duty as she fondled his balls with her free fingers. In a matter of minutes, he was vocalizing with every pump, every thrust, and every change of her mouth. His hips bucked reflexively, fucking her mouth, attempting to drive his cock deeper and deeper into sweet, warm, mouth.

When she felt his balls begin to draw closer to his body and harden, she doubled her efforts. She focused her mouth solely on the now purple glans of his glistening member. To drive him over the edge, she wrapped her lips around her teeth and slid her mouth on his head over and over again while jerking his full length. His legs began to quiver; he clamped onto her shoulders to maintain balance. As her mouth was filled with his salty release, he cried her name and doubled over.

Careful not to swallow his semen, she gently separated her mouth from his wilting penis. Not a drop spilt. His legs were still trembling, so Hermione reached up to his waist to gently guide him to the floor as she could no longer support his frame. As soon as his bare bottom touched her bedroom floor, she was off of it and darting back into the bathroom. Quickly, she assessed the state of her potion. It was perfect. With a determined glint in her eye, she swished his viscous come around her mouth, mixing it thoroughly with her own saliva. When she was satisfied with the consistency and sure there were near enough equal parts of both fluids, she unceremoniously spat into the cauldron.

Upon impact, the potion turned dark ocean blue. That was a surprise for Hermione. Although she knew that the potion's color changed depending on the ingredients added, she had not anticipated such a rich, deep color. When she had made the same formula in the past using Ron's semen, the potion turned tangerine orange. It was always a bit of a laugh for her, as if the potion understood she was warding off a pack of ginger haired brats. She studied the color, seeing its nuances as it roiled for two more minutes in the cauldron. The bubbles were lighter than the base, expanding into almost sky blue before popping. The edges of the cauldron where the potion splashed and remained were not as dark as the base, approaching grayer shades. She was fascinated.

Watching the brew swirl around the pewter basin was almost hypnotic. Fortunately her trance was broken when she heard a heavy knock on the open bathroom door. She extinguished the flames quickly and filled two phials with hot potion. Turning toward the doorway, she saw Malfoy leaning against the jamb. His trousers were refastened, and his mien was clearly sated. "Here we are," she said as she approached him. "We just need to add our hairs, and we're ready." He reached out for one of the phials which she carefully placed in his outstretched hand. Simultaneously, Hermione and Malfoy pulled a hair from their own heads. Hermione first dropped her hair into his potion. It fizzed for a moment, dissolving the length of keratin. He repeated her action, the potion reacting the same way.

"Cheers," said Hermione. They raised their phials and drank down the potion. The lingering taste of his musky come was quickly overpowered by something much more pleasant. The potion's profile was hard to distinguish. It was "good" but she couldn't quite work out what it tasted like. It was warming, comforting in a way. Like hot chocolate on a cold day, but tasted nothing like chocolate. Still, there was a sweet quality to it. Not sugary like a confection, but more like the taste of a saltine dissolving from salt to sweet. She couldn't put a name to it.

"And here I thought you just couldn't get enough of me. Turned out you were just using me for my seed." Malfoy grinned at her. "You wouldn't be so smug if you could see that your teeth are blue." His hand shot up to cover his mouth, and she dissolved into giggles. Before he could retaliate, she turned back to her work station and began to bottle the remaining potion. In all, she collected 18 individual phials. The potion was sure to remain at full potency for up to a year. Either she or Malfoy could drink the potion, provided that the proper hairs were added just before consumption. Each glass tube was labeled with the date and initials D.M. She then sealed the corked containers with sealing wax.

The tubes stood in her wooden test tube holder waiting for a home. Without turning, she asked, "do you want to keep some of these in your stores?" The subtext hung heavy in the air. It wasn't as if she was asking him if he wanted to keep antiseptic cream in his potions cabinet. She was asking if they would be continuing, if they might also be together in his rooms in the dungeons. A knot of nervousness formed in the pit of her stomach as she awaited the answer.

"That would probably be a good idea. Just in case. Shall we leave things as they are and have some lunch?" The knot dissolved, and she turned to meet eyes with a smiling Malfoy. He had such a lovely smile, despite the blue teeth. "That sounds like a good plan. Perhaps it'll help us with our teeth." She flashed him a toothy grin and walked past him, through the bedroom, and into the lounge. He followed her closely, and reached out to grab her just before she reached the table which held a platter of food. Allowing him to turn her, they were again face to face. Bending his head low, he whispered in her ear. "Thank you. That was the best time I ever had collecting ingredients. Next time, it's my turn."

She felt her knees go weak. There was so much promise in his voice. Next time. It could be nine months or never. Neither of them knew how long they had to live. He was in danger every single day since taking the Mark. Every time she stepped foot out of Hogwarts, she was in danger. It was probable not even Hogwarts would remain safe when the war escalated. She desperately wanted it to be a promise they could keep.

Hermione wanted to speak, to break the moment, but his mouth swallowed the voiceless words in hers. His kiss was gentle, and his tongue peeked from between his lips to beg entrance to her mouth. She granted it, allowing him to lave the underside of her lips. His tongue caressed her own, and soon they were engaged in mutual massage, their pink muscles sliding and curling around each other. Without prompting, Malfoy deepened the kiss, pressing closer to her body and wrapping his arms more tightly around her waist. The contact of his erection against her belly caused her to sigh. One of the perks of having a teenage boy as a lover – quick recovery time.

As Hermione began to adjust her posture to allow more friction to touch the parts of her body that needed it, her stomach began to rumble. It sounded like a troll burbling through the Forbidden Forest in search of something tasty. Upon hearing the protests coming from her body, Malfoy laughed into her mouth and his tongue retreated. "Perhaps we should pick this up later. It wouldn't do to have you starve. You need your energy." He loosened his hold and looked down at her face. She knew her eyes were probably a little glassy, still half lidded with passion. A deep breath helped calm her racing heart. Before she could respond, her stomach did it for her, echoing a low rumble across the room. They both laughed and separated their bodies, turning toward the platter that had been left for them.

Draco had been worried about what to order for lunch. He knew many of her food preferences from watching her in the Great Hall, but felt as though there was something important riding on his decision. He threw a handful of floo powder into the empty grate and a house elf popped into view. "I'd like to order lunch for me and the Head Girl. Can you perhaps put a tray together of her favorite things?"

"Of course!" the little elf squeaked.

"Thank you." The elf's eyes grew round at his appreciation and quickly disappeared, the green fire vanishing from the grate. His task completed, he turned and went in search of Hermione. He found her in the bathroom busily attending to her makeshift brewing station. Her hips swayed in time to inaudible music. She worked easily, adding herbs at the right moment. When she turned to check the temperature of her brew, he could tell that she caught sight of him. "Oh, hey, that's good timing. I need you." She looked positively wild as she led him back into the bedroom. Although she queried him about lunch, his answer passed unnoticed. There was a feral glint in her eye as she summarily latched onto his lips.

Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around her and returned her fervor in kind. He could feel her hands snaking down his chest toward the waistband of his trousers. A knot of warmth curled inside him and his cock began to twitch. When her small, hot hand came into contact with his rigid flesh, Draco moaned, breaking their passionate kiss. Whatever focus he had was lost. His forehead made contact with her shoulder and all he could concentrate on were the soft but insistent strokes to his hard-on.

Her lips found brief purchase on his neck before her tongue began to emulate her strokes, wetting his neck. Noises he didn't know he could make broke free from his throat as the anticipation of where her tongue would eventually apply itself rose. Although his eyes were closed, he could see her beautiful mouth, with her Cupid's bow lips, opened wide around his shaft. Even the image was almost too much.

The soft kiss she bestowed on his swollen glans pushed him over to sensory overload, and his traitorous body jerked in response. He felt his throbbing dick smack against her cheek, heightening his desire. He desperately wanted friction to relieve him of the tightness that was coiling in his groin. It was both ecstasy and Hell when she began to suck hard on the head, swirling her tongue around him with every movement she made. His knees began to buckle, and he leaned on her shoulders to hold himself in place. It wasn't long before he felt the telltale tightening in his balls.

With a great shiver, he came. Her name started as a prayer on his lips, but quickly became a cry of passion as he ejaculated spurt after spurt of cream. In a haze, Draco could feel himself being gently lowered to the ground. And then he was alone – his bare ass sitting on the cold floor with his softening cock resting tiredly against his thigh. Bleary eyed, he made out Hermione's form bending over the boiling cauldron. There was no time for a quick nap to recuperate. Mentally rousing himself, he carefully stood, pulling his boxers and trousers up as he went.

By the time he walked into the bathroom, she had already added the last two ingredients to the potion. It was an indescribable shade of blue. Draco had never brewed contraceptive potion outside of class. And, in class, they had only created the general potion, not the person specific one. Theoretically, he understood that the different essential ingredients added to the common base created a multitude of colors. But, it was surprising to see something so deep, so rich in hue. He knocked on the door.

Hermione acknowledged him, but was focused on the potion. She poured two phials of the hot liquid and let him know that it was time. They added a hair from each other's head and drank down the brew when it was dissolved. The taste was unmistakable. Caramel. It was faint, but still absolutely distinct as the potion coated his tongue and flowed down his throat.

"And here I thought you just couldn't get enough of me. Turned out you were just using me for my seed." He couldn't help it. A broad smile stretched across his face. Everything about this moment made him feel light inside – in spite of the fact that he just consumed a potion that used his own spunk as a significant ingredient.

"You wouldn't be so smug if you could see that your teeth are blue." At her words, he immediately covered his mouth. Blue teeth? Oh the indignity! She broke into giggles. She continued to laugh as she bottled and capped the rest of the potion in single dose amounts. When she asked him if he wanted to keep a few phials in his rooms, he was slightly surprised. Did she want to spend time with him in the dungeons? And, perhaps more importantly, the question lingered in the back of his mind – how long could this last?

He didn't want to answer the latter. But, he desperately wanted her spend time with him in his rooms. Oh! How he loved the visual of her feral hair splayed across his Slytherin green pillows. "That would probably be a good idea. Just in case. Shall we leave things as they are and have some lunch?" He tried to sound nonchalant, but it was hard to maintain his cool. Leave it to Hermione to ease the tension. She flashed him a wide, bright blue smile, and lunch came to the fore in his mind.

Well, for a few seconds at least. The sight of Hermione walking back through the bedroom toward the lounge reawakened a different kind of hunger. Her hips swayed as she made for the lunch spread. Following closely behind, Draco captured her in his arms and whispered in her ear. "Thank you. That was the best time I ever had collecting ingredients. Next time, it's my turn." And then he kissed her, slowly and deeply. Although she had potentially brewed nine months worth of potion, he wanted more. In the last 48 hours, through all of the uncomfortable emotions, he couldn't remember feeling happier. Ever. Without words, he silently begged her to understand with his lips and tongue.

And when she kissed him back, he felt that she did understand. Their kisses were languid rather than frenzied. As they kissed, their bodies responded, fitting tighter and tighter together. Just as Hermione began to wrap her leg around his to increase her friction, a tremendous gurgling filled his ears. Her growling stomach broke the mood, and he began to laugh. Sometimes you just couldn't escape your stomach. Making light of the moment, Draco ushered her over to the table when her stomach prompted them a second time.

"I wasn't quite sure what to order, so I asked the house elf to send up a few of your favorite things." The trays were all covered with silver platter warmers, and he was eager to see what the kitchen elves had chosen. She lifted the nearest lid from a square tray. The contents were readily recognizable as either cottage or shepherd's pie. Excellent. The next lid revealed a bowl of broccoli cheese. Third, a cheese and fruit platter. Where the elves found fresh strawberries at this time of year, he could only guess. And last, a dessert tray with slices of some kind of pie. "What's this?" He skeptically pointed toward the dark orange wedges. "Pumpkin pie. It's an American dessert."

"Ah. Is it any good?"

"It's delicious. In fact, I think we should start with that." She lifted the platter from the tray and beckoned him to follow her to the couch. "Grab a fork or two, would you?" He did as directed and joined her on the small settee. She took one of the forks from his hand, and using the side of the implement to cut through the soft filling removed a liberal bite. Draco watched as the pie was enveloped by the warm dark cavity of her mouth - a small, satisfied smile spreading across her face. "Oh that is sooooo good," she moaned. If the pie was half as good as her reaction, it was sure to be a memorable treat. He followed suit and cut a smaller slice of the pie.

Before he put it in his mouth, he sniffed it. The scent of cinnamon wafted through his nose. It was warm, pleasant. When he put the morsel into his mouth, the warmth seemed to spread throughout his body. The taste was more delicate than he imagined. When he looked back at Hermione after swallowing his first bite, she looked satisfied. "It's pretty good, huh?"

"It's ok."

"Oh really? The look on your face said otherwise." He could definitely get used to the banter they shared.

"I was just trying to emulate you. I thought it was a nice touch." She playfully elbowed him in the ribs and went for another bite.

Soon the pie was consumed in amiable silence. Although they were both still hungry, they were comfortable just sitting in each other's company for a few minutes. She made the first move, standing from the couch and moving back toward the food. "Would you like a plate?" She was offering to fix him one. "Yes, please, but I'll get it." And he rose to meet her by the tray so that he could dish out sizable portions of meat pie and broccoli cheese.

They returned to the sofa and consumed their food quietly, save the sounds of chewing and swallowing. When their plates were empty and bellies full, they sat on the sofa side by side. It wasn't an awkward moment per se, but the gravity of the situation was making itself known. Hermione curled into Draco's side and rested her head on his shoulder. "You'll need to see Professor Snape soon."

She was right of course. While he was glad to return to his godfather with favorable news and have the Oath removed, he was dreading the new burdens that would come with the visit. He had doubts as to whether or not his skills would be good enough to be equal to the task at hand. Could he become an Occlumens quickly enough to fool the Dark Lord? Could he make other contacts in the Light that would trust him? Could he continue to let his new relationship with Hermione build and grow while ever suppressing its public acknowledgement? How could they be in a classroom together without making eyes at each other? The questions piled one atop another until his head was screaming with doubts. His brow rested on the top of her head while he tried to sort it out.

"I know it's a lot to take in," she said. "Perhaps the best thing is to just get it over with. Meet the challenge head on and then formulate a plan of attack."

"Ever the practical witch. You're probably right."

"Besides, you know where you stand with Professor Snape. He's not only your ally, but for all intents and purposes is also your family."

"Remember, my _family_ sold me out to the Dark Lord," he spat bitterly.

"More reasons why blood means nothing and character is everything." The phrase was simple, but effective. He turned toward her and stared into her eyes. Eyes the color of dark tea with flecks of cream. She stared back in earnest. "I'm sure the Professor will know just what to say to strengthen your resolve. He, more than most, has a need for this war to come to a speedy end." At this, Hermione stood and reached out for his hand. He grasped it and rose to stand beside her. "While Harry may be the implement of Voldemort's destruction, Professor Snape is, as I have come to believe, the agent."

"And what shall we be in all this madness?" She locked eyes with him, complete conviction sounding in her voice.

"Together."


	15. Chapter 15

A/N Everything belongs to JKR.

"_And what shall we be in all this madness?" She locked eyes with him, complete conviction sounding in her voice._

"_Together."_

They stood next to Hermione's settee, hands and eyes locked together, feeling the truth and gravity of the moment. Draco pulled her to him, and he wrapped his arms around her in a fierce hug. This would forever be cemented in his mind as the moment he knew he was not alone. Since the return of the Dark Lord after the Triwizard Tournament, his world had become increasingly more isolated. His father, who he loved and respected above all others, seemed to turn from a strong family leader to a maniac overnight. His mother withdrew from the manor and practically lived in her rooms, refusing even to take meals with the family. But of course, they weren't family meals anymore. Deatheaters were always present, particularly when the Dark Lord was in house.

He could remember how exciting it was when he was 14. Many of the Deatheaters had been part of his life since his toddler years. As a child, they patted him on the head and said, "Oh, he looks just like Lucius." He remembered feeling proud that they thought him so like his father. When he was older, they taught him hexes and curses – which he practiced on the house elves and small animals on the manor's grounds. The more cruelty he inflicted the louder they cheered. "Look at that! He'll be just like Lucius someday." Their praise pleased his father.

But there was a whole world between torturing an animal and seeing it done to another human being. After the tournament, the veil began to lift, casting his sheltered life in dark contrast to the politics of what was really happening. His first Christmas home during fifth year, he got his first glance of the Dark Lord. Peeking around his father's study door, he could see the long black robes trailing along the intricate Persian rug. The sight of his ghostly white skin made him shudder inside, and he quickly stepped away from the door. Of course Voldemort missed nothing; he knew Draco had been peeping from behind the door. Draco found himself being pulled forward by an invisible force, bypassing the now open door. He stopped just behind the Dark Lord's chair.

"Lucius, certainly you've taught your son better manners. Spying on a guest, and so poorly I might add, is not behavior I'm sure you encourage." His father's face drained of its blood.

"Of course not, My Lord." His voice was tight. Draco knew that tone. He would be in for it later. But he didn't have time to think about that. The Dark Lord had turned in his chair and for the first time he was eye to unnatural eye with his father's god. He dropped his eyes quickly, bowing his back slightly in pureblood custom to show his respect.

"Your spying is atrocious, but your manners are passable. You may look at me." Immediately, he obeyed the command. And that's what it certainly was, not a request. "Now that you've had a proper look at me, what do you think?" Oh no. How was he supposed to respond? His insides were churning. He was frightened when he was peering around the door. Now, standing next to Voldemort, he was terrified. The smell emanating from his was indescribable. Up to this point, Draco had never seen a rotting corpse up close, but he imagined that the odor was probably very similar. Discreetly, he tried to breathe through his mouth to lessen the stench.

"My Lord, you're as impressive and imposing as I've been told my entire life." Unexpectedly, Voldemort burst into dark laughter.

"Oh Lucius, you've trained him well. Spoken like a true politician." The Dark Lord composed himself. "You may go." Draco didn't hesitate; he didn't even make eye contact with his father before he turned on heel and fled the room at as dignified a pace as possible. From that point on, things became progressively more uncomfortable and confusing. As a Slytherin, there was no one to turn to in terms of friendship. Everyone was suspicious of each other all the time. Although he considered Blaise Zabini a mate of sorts, he couldn't exactly spill his guts about how terrifying the Dark Lord truly was. After all, he was supposed to be Draco's unquestioned leader.

The only person he ever felt remotely at ease with was Snape. Where the other Deatheaters egged him on to increase his malicious torture sessions, Severus stood back, watching the scenes unfold. Later, when they were alone, he would fire question after question, insisting that there had to be _purpose_ to all of that pain. "What did you learn from this?" Draco always thought Severus was just being a teacher, that everything needed a lesson attached to it. When he would respond with something like, "I learned a new hex," he quickly found the answer was insufficient. "Well goody for you, idiot boy. Did you learn to control it? Did you learn the nuances of the magic? How to make the hex's effects change in intensity?" There were always more questions, and his answers were never good enough.

It had been very frustrating dealing with Severus's constant criticism. Where everyone – save his father – indiscriminately praised him for his brutality, Snape wanted reasons for it. Would a hex or curse be useful for getting information, or did it just incapacitate someone? In hindsight, he could begin to understand that he was being mentored. Not in acts of cruelty, but in thought processes and acts of mercy. It had always been Snape's job to kill people who were no longer useful to Deatheaters. Informants whose information was bad. Muggles who were no longer "fun." Women who were not meant to survive the revels. The people were usually nearly unrecognizable by the time the final _avada kedavra_ was uttered. And Severus Snape had made it his job to provide them a final kindness, a release from the pain and madness that filled them in their final days.

Hearing the potion master's story had caused so much rage to stir inside of his heart. The betrayal was unbelievably painful. The one person he felt had always been honest with him was a liar. Worse than that, he redacted everything that was supposed to be important and right to his entire life. At that moment, he felt more alone than ever. It was such a contrast to the warmth settling into his chest as he held Hermione closely. He knew she was fiercely loyal; her house didn't need to account for that. There were quite a few times he wondered why she continually put up with Potter and the Weasel. No matter what, they did things together.

Or at least, that had been his impression. It was widely known, but unspoken, that Hermione was the brains of the operation. Draco had always assumed that she read a lot and then parroted back what she remembered. He had never heard one of her "According to My Research" speeches. In the last two days, it became clear that she was pulling more than her weight's worth in the trio. The overheard conversation by the transfiguration classroom was proof enough of that. He recalled Weasley's jibe about getting to the point. Any Slytherin knew that it was always best to get all of the information before rushing into any scenario. Hermione effectively shut him down with her comeback, but it was plain that she did all of the thinking for those two.

His mind began to drift, consumed with thoughts about how much he had learned about her in such a short time. And, how much she had introduced him to. That pumpkin pie was delicious. His tongue tingled at the sense-memory. A quiet sigh drifted to his ears, pulling him from his reverie. "You need to go to Professor Snape now. It's time."

"You're right. Should I call him through the floo first?" The semantics of the situation were beginning to catch up to the couple.

"That's probably a good idea. Any discussion between you is bound to take some hours. You want to be sure that he's available to meet that order. Also, there's the matter of you getting back to the dungeons." He groaned. This would be difficult in and of itself. While they had access to floo perks that other students could not enjoy, they were also a bit limited. They could use the floo to call virtually any other floo on the intra-floo network; however they couldn't step through all of them. Only the headmaster or headmistress's office was available for transport, and that was after on-the-spot permission was granted. He would need to physically leave Hermione's rooms, well ensconced in Gryffindor territory, and make his way back down the dungeons on foot. Because it was Saturday, there was no way to judge who was out and about in the halls.

"Right." Then he thought for a moment. "I can't call him from your floo. Why would I be here?" Panic began to rise.

"Relax. Professor Snape already knows you're here. It won't be a surprise to him if you use my floo."

"Why does he know I'm here? I could've gone anywhere last night after I left his rooms."

"He knows because I told him. I sent my patronus with a carefully encoded message to let him know that you were safe." The information didn't want to sink into his mind.

"Why would you do that? And when did you do it? I'm sure I would've remembered seeing you cast a patronus."

"About 3 this morning when I woke up needing a wee. I did it because I know he cares for you and was probably worried after you stormed out of his rooms. Besides, he's seen the arithmancy; he knows we're supposed to be with each other." She rubbed reassuring circles around his lumbar. "At any rate, Professor Snape isn't fool enough to think the students of this establishment are living chastely for seven years. That's why he's the only one to teach contraception in this place." Her tone of voice changed in that last sentence. He knew the ferocity that those words held meant she had some strong opinions on the subject.

However, now was not the time to learn them. He disentangled his arms from around her back and stepped over to the floo. Grabbing a pinch of powder from the brass bowl on the mantel, he tossed it into the hearth and when the flames turned green, stuck his head in. "Professor Snape?" His question echoed through the room. He could make out the landscape of Severus's sitting room. He walked into view and bent down eye level to his fireplace. "Yes, Draco."

"I'm prepared to make my decision and discuss how to proceed." Best to keep the conversation formal and vague. Who knows how many ears were listening.

"Very well. You will meet me here in one hour. Be prepared to stay through the dinner hour. We have much to discuss." The professor's head blinked out of view, and Draco pulled his face away from the dissolving flames. Hermione's optimistic voice floated behind him. "That seemed to go well."

"Let's hope so. It sounds like I'm in for a long night."

"That's true, but now that you have a rough idea about what's happening, it won't be so shocking." She stood by the lunch dishes, picking at the cheese platter. He liked that she wasn't shy about eating. Most of the witches in Slytherin looked sickly. Sometimes he could count all of Pansy's ribs when they were together. It was not attractive, and he told her so. After all, who wanted to fuck a skeleton?

He joined her in nibbling the leftovers of their lunch. Again they fell into companionable silence. Already, it seemed, Hermione had grown to care for him. She sent her patronus to Professor Snape for him. His eyebrows scrunched together, forming a silent question. Ever observant, she asked, "what is it?"

"You said you sent your patronus. How do you do that? And how can you send message through it? Aren't they just wisps of smoke?"

"Well, sometimes they are, and when that's the case then no messages can be sent. The spell works simply as a quick dementor diversion then. But, many times the patronus becomes a fully embodied creature. When that's the case, then it can for a short time carry the will of the witch or wizard who cast it. I've only ever seen animals, but a patronus could be any number of things I suppose."

"So you can make a creature?" He was really curious now. A warm smile spread across Hermione's lips. Then, they quirked a bit, signaling a bit of impishness.

"Would you like to see it?" She didn't wait for an answer. She simply pulled her wand from the band of her yoga trousers, turned away from him, and repeated in a clear, firm voice, "_expecto patronum_!" Her otter sprang forward and swam around in front of them. It then circled the couple and did figure eights before settling onto its back, rubbing its tummy. It wasn't difficult to tell that Draco was impressed.

"That's..." he stammered, "I've never seen anything like that. And this is what you get when you want to ward off dementors."

"Well, I hope so. I mean, I haven't faced many physical dementors. It's more difficult to conjure my otter then because it's so difficult to feel happiness. You have to really dig deep for it when a real dementor is around." She flicked her wand and the otter started to attention, waiting for a command. Instead, she ended the spell and tucked her wand back into her waistband.

"What do you mean 'feel happiness'? Don't you just say the spell and there it is? It's your intent that manipulates the magic."

"Yes intent is important, but patronus charms require the caster to channel happiness and joy into the intent. Think of it this way. A dementor sucks all of the joy from the people it comes near; it makes the room freezing and brings up the worst memories and nightmares people have. Your intent in that moment is to reverse that, to make that dementor go away and restore general well-being. So, you need to draw upon everything positive in order to make the negative go away."

"Makes a lot of sense. It didn't look like there were a lot of wand movements to do the spell."

"None at all, you just point and shoot in essence. Complicated wand movements could potentially shift too much focus. You need to channel as much goodness, as strongly as possible, as you can."

"I'm gonna try it." Draco pulled his wand from his trouser pocket and extended it in front of him. "Expecto patronum, right?"

"That's it." She stepped aside to give him a little room. His face relaxed, but she could almost feel how tense his body was. He was willing something to build inside of him. "_Expecto patronum!_"

Unsurprisingly, nothing happened. He looked disappointed. Hermione reached over and put her hand on his wand arm. "Hey, that's ok. It took Harry a full six months of working with Professor Lupin before he could even manage a patronus shield. It was months more before there was an animal form to it." He lowered his arm but was hesitant to put his wand away. He had excellent aptitude for spell casting. There was something disconcerting about not being about to do it right on the first try.

"Don't beat yourself up about it. Here, come sit with me for a minute." She tugged his arm, and he followed her to the settee. Arranging herself cross-legged, her posture straightened while she studied him. "Do you know the story of Peter Pan?" The name wasn't familiar to him, but he noticed that her voice had changed, becoming a bit higher and more strident. "No? Not too surprising as it's muggle in origin. At any rate, the story is about a little boy named Peter Pan who will not grow up. He remains perpetually 10 forever. Most muggle fairy tales involve magic in some way. Sometimes it seems farfetched, even by wizarding standards. But, other times there are details that make me wonder if the author knew a witch or wizard, or was one themselves.

Now I don't know for sure, but I _think_ that the author, James Barrie, had wizarding connections. In the story, Peter can fly. He doesn't use a broom, but instead a pinch of faerie dust and a happy memory. The dust isn't enough to do the job. Someone needs to let a supremely happy memory fill them in order to achieve flight.

Of course we both know that a pinch of faerie dust will get you nowhere, but think about how you feel when you're happy. Sometimes, you do feel like you're flying and channeling that emotion through a wand to create a patronus suddenly doesn't seem too farfetched. At the risk of sounding like Professor Trelawney, you have to cast yourself into the patronus."

It took a second for Draco to recover. She had thoroughly entered instruction mode, and her explanation came out sounding serious and lecture-like. "Back up, Hermione. What does this muggle book have to do with the patronus charm again?" Reflexively, she huffed in frustration.

"Honestly. What I'm saying is that you need to allow yourself the lightness that complete happiness provides to produce a functioning patronus. That emotion flows through the patronus charm, either as a shield or animal, to counteract dementors."

"No need to get snotty about it."

"Well if you weren't being so thick, I wouldn't need to 'get snotty' as you so eloquently put it." Quickly, Hermione rose from the sofa and paced back to the remnants of their lunch. She began organizing the plates and tray covers for the house elf that would retrieve them, although she knew it was totally unnecessary. She took deep breaths and brought herself under control. "Look, I'm sorry. I guess old habits die hard." He could see that she was struggling and gave her the minute or so to work out her words. She rejoined him on the couch, resuming her original position but with a more relaxed posture. "I don't want to patronize you. It's just, well, Ron and Harry, they constantly dismiss me when I try to share information with them. They want me to get to the punch line in the simplest vocabulary possible. I get so frustrated because often the background is significant to the answers I might provide. I knew Peter Pan probably wouldn't be familiar to you being muggle and all, but I figured you would understand the metaphors. When you questioned me, it was like hearing Ron tell me to get to the point, and I reacted accordingly."

Her hands were folded in her lap, and her head was bowed. Gently, he covered her hands with his own and ducked his head so he could meet her gaze. "Apology accepted." Squeezing her fingers, he went on. "I understand that your reaction was kind of a reflex, but you kind of blindsided me. Sure I've seen you in a classroom for the last six years, but that's a classroom where there's a teacher and other students to impress. Right now, it's just us in this room. It was like you transformed into a mini McGonagall for a few minutes, lecturing me about muggle literature and its probable connections to the wizarding world." Hermione's head snapped up; her mouth was slightly agape and questions filled her eyes.

"Can't you feel yourself change when you 'share information'?" She scrunched her brow and pursed her lips. After a few seconds she shook her head in the negative. Draco's expression of surprise in turn surprised her. "Really? Because from the time we sat down on the sofa, everything about your demeanor changed. You sat up straight. Your voice quality changed. Your speech became crisper and a kind of superiority took over your words. I'm not saying that you don't know what you're talking about, but you made yourself sound like the authority on the subject." At this point, her face softened, and she looked a little forlorn.

"I did all that? Just when I was talking about Peter Pan?"

"You did."

"I didn't realize." Her voice drifted, as did her eyes. Apparently this was quite a revelation for her. His thumbs rubbed circles on the backs of her hands as he watched her compose herself. "Well alright," she said just after she cleared the lump from her throat. "Hey, you'd better get moving if you're going to make your meeting with Professor Snape. He can't abide lateness."

"Don't I know it. But, I don't want to leave you upset." Concern weighted his voice.

"You aren't. Didn't you hear? I'm the Gryffindor Know-It-All, and I don't think that's changing anytime soon." While her voice was light and a smile was affixed to her face, it didn't quite reach her eyes. It was clear she was a little shaken by his criticism. "Really, I'm fine. Now, you should make your way to the dungeons."

"Sounds like you're kicking me out." He followed her light tone, hoping they could part on good terms. She returned his teasing.

"I am! You've got a lot to learn and a short amount of time to do it so we can get some real work done."

"Ok, ok I'm going." They stood together, still hand in hand, and walked to the door. Hermione reached for the knob and just barely turned it when Draco pulled her back to his chest and kissed her soundly. When they finished their impromptu snog, they rested their foreheads together, breathing heavily. The question was weighing in his chest. "When can I see you again?" Before he knew what had happened, the words erupted from his mouth. He immediately began chastising himself for sounding too eager. Too desperate.

She thought for a minute before responding. "We can't exactly go about this like other students. We'll need to put in face time with our own houses. It'll get suspicious if we're seen together too often or consequently if we're both missing at the same time."

"I agree. Do you think we could have our floos connected? We could make up arguments about not wanting to be in each other's territory."

"I'm not sure it would work. Perhaps once the major players know you're working for the Light, then we might get Professor Snape to request a dispensation for a change in floo usage. We'll work on it. In the meantime, I'm not sure it's safe to be together again for this length of time for a few days."

"You're probably right. Besides, we've both a got a lot to think about."

"Absolutely. Tell you what. Let's make arrangements to talk through the floo tonight once you're finished with the professor. I'll wait up if need be. I'm going to assume that you won't come to the Great Hall for dinner."

"Probably not. Alright, it's a date." He couldn't help the grin that spread over his face. She responded in kind; this time her smile definitely reached her eyes. He liked the way they sparkled. He bent his head for another kiss, but she evaded him.

"Enough of that. We'll be here all day, and that won't do! Now get out." Untangling herself from his grasp, Hermione once again turned the door knob. The heavy wooden door swung in just as the portrait on the outside swung open. She did a quick scan of the corridor to make sure no one was about. "Looks like the coast is clear." Her voice was now a harsh whisper. "We'll speak tonight."

Draco nodded and smoothed his facial features into his usual bored neutrality. He slipped from her doorway and walked at a good clip down the hall. Just as he turned the corner to the second hall, not far from the main quarters of Gryffindor Tower, an unmistakable shrill brogue stopped him in his tracks. "Mr. Malfoy. What reason pray tell have you to be in Gryffindor Tower on a Saturday afternoon?" Heart pounding, he turned on heel to face Professor McGonagall.

"Good afternoon, Professor. The head girl and I were just working out the prefects' rounds' schedules for next month." He lied on his feet, hoping his voice was intoned with the usual mix of respect and disdain.

"I see. And why were you not meeting in a space perhaps a bit more neutral?" Her eyebrow rose with the question. They never met at the head girl's room, just like they never met at his room in the dungeons. They weren't supposed to like each other. His brain worked overtime to come up with a plausible lie.

"The prefect's tend to hound us when we schedule in the library. Granger," he spat her surname to McGonagall's feet for good measure, "refuses to come to the dungeons. I had little choice in the matter."

"And where are you going just now, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Back to the dungeons for a meeting with Professor Snape." He hoped that dropping Severus's name would provide him a speedy escape.

"Then you'd best get on your way. Good day, Mr. Malfoy." She summarily swept past him and made for the staircase that would lead to her Transfiguration classroom. Picking up his pace, he turned the corner to the staircases that went to the Main Hall. Fortunately, the corridor was empty and a great sigh of relief whooshed from his chest. That had been close! But, he had little time to dwell. He only had a few more minutes to make it to Severus's office on time, and he took off for his meeting with destiny.

Minerva McGonagall was suspicious anytime she saw a Slytherin in Gryffindor territory. There were usually unsavory things afoot. Fights being settled. Exchanges for illegal contraband. Yes, these students were usually up to no good. Imagine her shock when she saw the distinctive blonde hair attached to Draco Malfoy's head ahead of her in the hallway. There were no good reasons she could come up with as to why he would be there on a Saturday afternoon.

When their exchange ended, she was still not convinced that he had been there for the reasons he provided. As she sat behind her desk in her office, she ruffled papers to and fro, but could not seem to concentrate. No, it would not do. Something was going on. He had blamed Hermione for bringing him into the towers, but that didn't seem like her. Of course she could understand why the girl wouldn't want to meet in the dungeons, but still, it seemed uncharacteristic that she wouldn't suggest another, more neutral, meeting place. Something was definitely going on.

She thought back to her class on Friday, remembering Malfoy's strange behavior. As she noted it was so brief, she almost couldn't be sure that she had really seen it, but he had definitely smiled for a moment. And, his eyes darted toward the back of the room periodically. At the time, she couldn't spend too much mental energy on it, what with teaching class and all. But now, now, she replayed the scene in her mind step by step. Her mind's eye swept over the classroom. Harry and Ron grumbled about Hermione treating them like children. Hermione sat in the back row scratching away at a parchment. Seamus sat near her but in the row below, his feet propped up on the desk, clearly unprepared for the lesson. That boy! He had so much potential if only he would apply himself a little more.

Minerva momentarily resolved to contact his mum again by owl. Just as her mind began to tangent and write the perspective letter, it refocused, "seeing" Hermione sitting at the desk, head bent over, behind Seamus. No! It suddenly occurred to her that Hermione was the _only_ one sitting in the back row. She said it to herself when she was choosing students to put on the spot. A seat in the back row guarantees a question. Of course Hermione was over-prepared for every class. A question or two or ten meant nothing to her.

If Malfoy was glancing back at Hermione, that brief smile flickering on his lips, what could it mean? Did he have some dastardly plan for her? Surely there was nothing good about it. He was a Slytherin after all, and more importantly a self-proclaimed muggleborn hater. There was suspicion amongst many of the teachers that he had a Dark Mark. Oh! If Hermione somehow became involved with him beyond her Head duties, it would be disastrous.

It took a few moments for her to quell her desire to stride right to Hermione's rooms and demand to know what was going on. It was one thing to be rash as a student, but this needed to be handled delicately, professionally. If something unsavory was happening, she trusted Hermione to either handle it or bring it to her. If she had somehow fallen for some of Malfoy's pretty lies (oh, Minerva knew the rumors about him and the witches at Hogwarts), then it needed to be stopped. At once! Still, it didn't make sense for Hermione to take him at any words, even pretty ones. She was a smart girl; surely, she knew what he was at heart.

But of course, that was where Minerva McGonagall's arguments fell short. She assumed that she knew Draco Malfoy's heart, and in her perception it was as black as his father's. While she had only begun to peer inside, Hermione recognized that Malfoy's heart wasn't black. It was all shades of grey. Shades that told her he was a young man struggling with a change in reality, that told her he could be a good man someday. Her brief glimpses also made her wonder if he could not produce the patronus simply because he didn't have enough happiness in his life to fill him.


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N Every thing belongs to J.K.R.; I'm just borrowing. _

Hermione briefly watched as Malfoy made his way, briskly, down the hallway toward the staircases that would deliver him to the dungeons. The portrait closed when she turned back into her lounge, closing the inner wooden door behind her. It had already been a full day, and it was only mid afternoon. She looked around the lounge, noting that the lunch tray had already been collected. Her notes were still haphazardly piled on the desk where they were left after showing him the arithmancy graphs. Sadly, there was no time for arithmancy at that moment. There were other class assignments that needed tending, and she knew she needed to spend several hours in the Gryffindor common room to douse possible suspicion.

Bypassing her desk and couch, she made for the bedroom so she could clean and put away her potions equipment. Unexpectedly, when she took her first clear breath upon entering the room, she was summarily smacked in the face with the scent memory of the previous night. He was everywhere, and she stopped short and scanned the room just to double check that he was not in fact with her. She chided herself for her silliness and prepared to go about her work. Somehow her feet did not agree with her plans, and they carried her toward the bed.

Crookshanks was curled in a gnarled orange ball in the center of her pillow, dozing away without a care. She scowled at him, remembering his bad behavior from the morning. "Poor, Draco," she murmured. "I'll have to ask him about his leg tonight when he floos." As soon as the thought left her lips, her hand rose to cover it as though an unspeakable secret had been told. The first time he used her name, it jarred her from her frozen position on his lap. Never had they been on first name basis. In fact, he rarely ever used her surname, choosing to insult her with other words instead. She had only ever used his in conjunction with his surname, explaining to her parents who her rivals were at school. From then on, he was just "Malfoy."

She mentally rolled the name around her mind. Draco: Latin for dragon. Name of a constellation as well as a dwarf galaxy. _Draco_: genus of "flying" lizard. Draco Malfoy… dragon of bad faith. "Maybe they should've named him Smaug instead." Laughter bubbled inside her chest, and she fell heavily on the bed. Crooks yowled and hissed at the unpleasant jostling he received. Sniffing twice, he turned away from Hermione and jumped off the bed. Paying him no mind, Hermione continued to giggle at her little joke.

When she calmed and came back to herself, she took stock of the moment. At one time, Smaug would have been a fitting taunt (although only she and maybe Harry would have understood it). But, now it was counter to everything she had learned since finding him in the abandoned hallway. Of course there would always be a large part of him that was guided by his upbringing. Maybe she could convince him that muggleborns were no better or worse than purebloods, but his knee-jerk reaction would always be to favor pureblood status. She would just have to wait and see.

In the meantime, she stretched the length of the bed along the side where he had slept. Burying her face in his pillow, she could smell sandalwood and verbena. Breathing in deep breaths, the scent filled her lungs and calm filtered through her body in a way she had rarely known. The cauldron was forgotten, as were the arithmantic calculations. It was just her and the memory of his skin. Something about the essential oils seemed to fit him so well. Spicy and deep, but somehow fresh with a bit of acid. It would be interesting to see how they interacted during the day in the castle.

The castle! Hermione sat bolt upright. The Marauder's Map! So stupid! Jumping off the bed, she began to pace frantically back and forth, back and forth. If Harry or Ron (or anyone else for that matter!) looked at the map while she and Draco were together, particularly alone in chambers, not only would they be suspicious, but they would certainly force an altercation. Letting them know that he was joining the Light too soon could jeopardize everything. She stopped pacing and took a cleansing breath, pulling in the spicy-clean smell from the nearby bed.

She made a plan. First, clean up the bathroom. Second, collect her week's homework, particularly her potions work. Third, make her way to the common room and engage Ron and Harry in some sort of goose chase. Fourth, and finally, slip into the boys' dormitory and "borrow" the map. Normally, she would have preferred to just ask Harry to borrow the map, but as Head Girl she had more rights and privileges to be around the castle than other students. Sneaking wasn't as necessary for her as it once had been. No, she would have to steal the map.

And then what would she do? The map was one of Harry's most prized possessions. He would go looking for it (probably sooner than later), and then what would happen? Moving into the bathroom to begin clearing her potions's workspace, Hermione decided that she would somehow need to make an altered copy of the map. A map that would function similarly, but that would not allow she and Draco to be plotted when alone together.

She deftly cleansed her stirring rods and _scourgified_ the cauldron before returning it to the linen cupboard. The contraception potion, with its transfixing blue color, still sat in the wooden rack. She collected 8 of the phials and added them to her own stores, leaving the remaining ones in the rack for Draco to collect at a later date. Satisfied that her work was done, she left the bathroom holding her breath. It wouldn't do to get caught up in the smell of him and lose sight of her task.

Once safely in the lounge, she wandered from place to place assembling everything she would need to do a marathon study session. She took plenty of extra parchment and quills so she could rope the boys into doing (i.e. copying) their own essays. That wouldn't hold their attention long enough for her to sneak off to Harry's room. She needed a bigger diversion that would get them out of the common room. A trip to Hagrid's? A kitchen raid? Quidditch practice?

Every idea that came to mind seemed insufficient. The boys would likely insist that she came along to most of the activities. Looking around, Hermione felt that she had everything she might possibly need crammed into her backpack. Briefly, she took a minute to go over the potential plan. Get to Gryffindor Tower. Occupy the boys. Steal the map. Make a copy. Return it (quickly!). The steps were simple enough; it was the execution she worried about. Still, she had time. Draco would be occupied with Professor Snape until well into the evening, and they had agreed it best not to spend too much private time together and cause undo suspicion. The way she figured it, she could concoct a solid plan in two or three days.

Satisfied that she was as well prepared as she could be for the minute, she exited the portrait hole (turning back to wave at the witch stirring her bubbling cauldron) and walked the familiar path to the common room. There were only a few students hanging about in the hallways. Most of them were Gryffindors on their way to other places. She cordially greeted the Fat Lady, provided the password, and stepped through in no time at all. To her dismay, she immediately had to dodge a mini practice bludger that was about to smash into her face. "Oi! What's all this?" shouted Hermione, making sure to use her authoritative Head Girl voice. "You nearly took my head off!" Seamus appeared by her side, capturing the bludger in his arms. "Just a bit of fun you know."

"No, I don't know. It's a nice enough day outside. Why aren't you playing on the pitch instead of in here?"

"Ah, Ravenclaw booked the pitch today. Thought we'd have a bit of a go inside. Hone our reflexes a bit." He'd made his way back to the box where the rest of the Quidditch set was waiting. "Don't have a hippogriff, Hermione. We'll move."

"Why don't you try the courtyard by the greenhouses?" Neville, who'd been sitting in the corner reading a book, joined the conversation.

"That's a great idea. That is if you want Professor Sprout to give you detention until graduation. Break a window, and you're done for mate."

"Fair point, Nev," agreed Seamus. "Right. Let's clear out of here." Many of the students who were in the common room were already making for the door. For the first time Hermione noticed that neither Ron nor Harry were among them.

"Neville, have you seen Harry and Ron today? We have potions essays due this week."

"Actually Hermione, I haven't seen them since breakfast. Then again I've been all over today, so I'm probably not the one to ask." He looked around the room and noted who had not followed Seamus through the portrait hole. "Hey, Ginny. Do you know where the guys are?" Swiveling her head toward the large, overstuffed couch by the roaring fire, Hermione noticed Ginny crane her neck over the top to answer Neville.

"I haven't seen them since breakfast either. Who knows what those two pillocks are up to today. They probably snuck into Hogsmead." Alarmed, she joined Ginny on the sofa.

"No really. You don't think they'd be so stupid." The look on Ginny's face said it all. "Ok, not my best choice of words. Oh! What are we going to do with those two?"

"I don't know, but I'm finished playing babysitter. This is getting ridiculous now." There was a grating sound behind them, indicating that Neville had vacated his chair, likely anticipating the moan-fest that was about to occur. The portrait opened and closed again, leaving the two witches alone.

"I agree that babysitting is not a great solution, but what if something happens?"

"Hermione, you're always trying to be the voice of reason. Maybe the only thing left is to let _something_ happen. I decided to break it off with Harry because he wasn't up to the job of being a proper boyfriend. If he can't deal with that, how in the hell is he going to destroy Voldemort?"

Hermione peaked over the couch and looked around the common room. There was no one around that she could see, but she didn't want to take a chance. Pulling her wand from her sleeve, she cast _muffliato_ around herself and Ginny. "_Something_ already is happening. Or, at least it's beginning to happen."

"It must be important; otherwise, you wouldn't have wanted to hide this part of our conversation. What's up?"

"Well, over the summer I started working on some arithmantic calculations to see if I could more accurately project the movement of the war. Most of the graphs showed me nothing surprising. I added as much information as I could about every single major player and minor ones that may not have even made the radar for a professional like Professor Vector." Ginny attentively listened to her friend. Leaning closer, she waited for the punch line. Hermione paused knitting her fingers together repeatedly, trying to decide just how much to reveal.

Although she and Ginny had always been friends, it was only in the last year that they became close. Funnily, her split with Ron prompted their first real heart to heart. Ginny had approached her in the Weasley garden right after their final confrontation as boyfriend and girlfriend. Even though she was crying, she knew she had done the right thing. She could hear the steady cadence of someone's feet as they pounded toward her; she steeled herself for another argument. "Well it's about bloody time! I thought you'd never get rid of him!" That was unexpected to say the least. Turning, she came face to face with a grinning Ginny. She must have looked confused because the youngest Weasley closed the gap and took her hand.

"Look, Ron's my brother and I love him endlessly, but he is also a royal prat. For ages now I've been wondering why you've put up with him. I wouldn't have. In fact, when Dean acted the same way, I could only stand it a few weeks before I had to get out. It was that or pitch him off the astronomy tower. You're better off. Believe me."

"Thanks for understanding, Gin. I really appreciate it." They stood silently, watching the gnomes scurry from tree to tree through the thick marsh weeds. From there they spent more "girl time" together. While they had spent a lot of time together in the past, rarely did they hang out just the two of them. The boys were always with them, and somehow they hadn't been able to build a more solid friendship because of that.

Now, sitting on the couch in the common room they had shared for six years, Hermione was about to confide in Ginny her biggest secret. Ginny was getting impatient. "Well? What's going on?"

"Just a few days ago, every graph changed dramatically." She took a fortifying breath. "There's a turncoat in the castle." She had anticipated her friend's reaction who clearly was about to have a conniption.

"Oh my gods. This is huge! Who is it? Wait! Wait, don't tell me. Let me guess."

"Hang on a second, Gin. I'm sorry but I really feel like I need you to take a wizarding oath. Whatever you're about to learn is not only completely secret, but it's got the potential to change the entire outcome of the war. It's not that I don't trust you, but there's a lot at stake here."

"Hey, I'm not offended. Besides, you'll need someone to talk to about this, and gods know they aren't prepared for it." Hermione's posture relaxed. She hadn't realized how much tension had built in her spine as she was leading up to it.

"Okay," she pointed her wand toward Ginny, who retrieved her own and mirrored Hermione's pose. "Do you swear that you will not reveal any details of this conversation to any person until I give you express permission to do so?"

"I swear that I will not share any details from this conversation until you tell me I can." Magic swirled around the two witches, sealing the oath. Ginny's excitement returned tenfold. She was practically bouncing off of the sofa. "It has to be someone from the other side. If it had been one of ours, that person would've been 'handled' by now. Between us and all the Order members in the castle, if someone had been a threat, it would've been taken care of." She watched as her friend mentally went through lists of people, trying to uncover the mystery turncoat. After several minutes, she seemed to come up blank. "Every person I think of seems to have strong reasons for remaining loyal to Moldy. The few names that pop out as maybes don't seem valuable enough to shift the entire war effort."

"You'll be completely shocked; in fact I don't think you'll believe me." A wicked glint flashed through her eyes.

"Oh I'll believe just about anything you tell me. Besides, only someone like Malfoy would be even remotely shocking." At the sound of his name, her face flushed red. Although she tried to conceal her reaction, the coloring was the damning evidence.

"No way! Totally not possible." Ginny eyed her warily, scrutinizing her expression. After a moment, she leaned back, flopping against the arm in a dramatic heap with a devilish smile on her lips. "Oh, Hermione, what have you done?" She couldn't help it. Her hands shot up to cover her face, and she curled into a ball. A small squeak escaped from her mouth, providing all the proof in the world that she had indeed done something.

Slowly, she sat up from the fetal position and pulled the words from the pit of her stomach. "I didn't mean to _do_ anything. It was super late on Thursday night, well more like super early Friday morning. I had just finished working a particularly nasty set of runes for the arithmancy and decided to reward myself with a good soak in the Prefect's Bathroom. When I got there, it was already in use. I fully intended to just turn around without the occupant ever being the wiser, but then my curiosity kicked in and so I peeped at who was there.

"It was a him, but his face was covered with a washcloth. I should've just gone, but then the flannel dropped and there he was. I can't even begin to explain what came over me."

"Well that's not bloody muggle science. He's dead sexy, and you were thinking he was less than a few meters away from you completely NAKED! Please tell me you did the deed with him. More importantly, please please please tell me you finished – properly." Again, Hermione's face flushed red and she folded slightly on herself. With a deep breath, she composed her posture and looked Ginny right in the eyes.

"It was one of the best orgasms I've ever had in my life." The room was filled by the sounds of clapping and squealing.

"I'm so happy for you. It's about time you get yours. Now tell me, was he a good lover, or was he all business? I'll bet he was all take charge." She shivered, clearly lost momentarily to her own Malfoy fantasies.

"Actually, he didn't get the chance to take charge. Before he even knew I was in the room, I stuck him to the tub. He was almost completely immobilized. _I_ took him." Pride swelled through her admission. Her mind briefly drifted and it occurred to her that it would make for a great story in a few years when people asked how they got together. Unexpected sadness flowed through the happy thought. That was if they lived through the war. They, like everyone else, had no guarantees – no matter what was growing between them.

Ginny brought her back to the moment. "Great, so you have your way with him in the bathtub and then what? Did you duel when it was over?"

"Are you kidding? I had the good sense to let go of the spell just as I was out the door. I went back to my room, and I assume he went back to his."

"But what happened during classes on Friday? Did you know right then that he was changing his mind about the war?"

"I had no idea until lunch break when I went to work on the arithmancy. From there things just snowballed. At the end of the day, I ran into him in a deserted corridor. We sorted some things out, and um, we went from there."

"This is… I don't even know the words. I mean, it's hard to believe that the Ferret is really coming to the Light, but it makes sense for the two of you to fit, even if it's just sex."

"I don't have a label for it, but I'm not convinced it's just sex. Not after the last two days, and not after seeing the graphs. Something bigger is happening here besides me and him. The whole war is shifting, and somehow we're in the center of it all."

"Damn." Ginny flopped back again and considered the ramifications of Hermione's confession. Without sitting up, she asked, "so what's the next step?"

"At present, I need the map. No one, absolutely not a soul, can know about what is happening between us."

"That's fair enough, but what are you going to do with it if you get it? You can't keep it. Harry'll freak out if he discovers it's missing."

"I figured I'd make a copy somehow. A copy that won't show Malfoy and me together outside of public situations. It's going to take some very fancy charm and spell work."

"Hey, I've got an idea. What if I borrow the map from Harry? I'll tell him I need it for some sort of 'witch's trouble' and need to sneak into Madame Pomfrey's stores. I'm sure I can work that angle. When I get the map, I'll hand it over to you for a few hours. You could at least copy the basic stuff and work from there."

"Ginny, you're a genius! How soon do you think we can set this in motion?" A tremendous weight lifted from her shoulders. Her reasons were good, but she hated the idea of stealing the map from Harry, especially when he could notice it was missing at any time. This was a much better solution.

"Probably by tonight. When the boys come back, I'll corner Harry and start complaining about cramps and period farts. As soon as I venture into slightly gross territory, he'll do just about anything to shut me up. Men are so squeamish."

"This is perfect. It also gives me time to do a little prep work and get some extra homework finished. If I can finish a good chunk of work before the evening, that would be ideal."

"Why the evening? You got a hot date, or something?" The young woman waggled her ginger eyebrows up and down to drive home the joke. She burst into giggles, enjoying seeing Hermione slightly bashful and dopey about a boy. With Ron it hadn't been like that. Even when they were a new relationship, all those years as friends seemed to erase that early giddiness. Here, she could see that something new and unfamiliar was blooming inside her friend. It made Ginny feel warm inside. Everyone deserved a little light in such dark times.

"Yeah, well, we're going to floo once he finishes his obligations for the day. There's a lot of planning and coordinating that needs to happen."

"Why don't you sneak down to the dungeons and surprise him? If you have the map, you don't have a lot to worry about. Well, nothing except nosey Slytherins."

"I don't know, Gin. We decided it would be best not to draw too much attention with unusual behavior."

"Yeah I guess. Listen, my bum's asleep, and I'm starving. It's almost dinner time. You want to head toward the Main Hall? Stretch our legs a bit."

"Sounds like a great plan. I've got nothing done, but I feel a lot better. I'm glad I could confide in you."

"Yeah, yeah. Only after a bloody oath. And I thought Harry was paranoid." Ginny cat stretched as she rose from the couch. Hermione contorted in similar ways, pulling her muscles to elongated shapes. The two women exited the Gryffindor common room through the portrait hole and made for the moving staircases. "You'd better eat a lot at dinner. You're going to need your strength if you're going to sit in front of a fire place all night." Hermione ribbed her with her elbow and the two friends walked toward the hall with laughter in their eyes.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N Thank you again to my readers and reviewers. I continue to mentally work through this story, and I'm terribly sorry about the slow, slow updates. I will continue to write and post, though it may be some weeks in between. I'll try not to let writing my pesky dissertation get in the way. As per usual, everything belongs to JKRowling. I own nothing.

From Chapter 15: _"Then you'd best get on your way. Good day, Mr. Malfoy." She summarily swept past him and made for the staircase that would lead to her Transfiguration classroom. Picking up his pace, he turned the corner to the staircases that went to the Main Hall. … He only had a few more minutes to make it to Severus's office on time, and he took off for his meeting with destiny._

Since Draco left Severus Snape's chambers on Friday evening, he hadn't had a moment's peace. While he felt reasonably confident that Draco would come around to the Light, especially under Hermione Granger's influence, there were still innumerable concerns weighing on his heart. Although he didn't want to entertain the thoughts, Severus made himself think about the course of action that would need to be taken if Draco stayed the course with his father and Voldemort. It was a bleak future. The oath he had insisted Draco take that evening was finite in its intention. It wouldn't hold him past the weekend and their impending conversation.

Severus tried to make the oath as binding, yet as flexible, as possible. He couldn't risk Draco speaking to the wrong person; he couldn't even risk him spilling his guts to the castle ghosts or portraits. Students often took the spiritual inhabitants of the castles as confidantes. For your average, everyday teenage problems, that was fine, but this was a situation where even one wrong pair of ears got involved and all could be lost.

Still, he understood that Draco would more than likely need someone to work it through with. That person would likely be Miss Granger, but at the same time, Severus felt that he couldn't exclusively include her in the oath. Not only would it have looked suspicious, but it also would have alerted Draco to the possibility that he knew about what had happened between them. Although he was privileged to many of the details of his private life (his "relationship" with Miss Parkinson, for example), this particular detail was as yet not discussed between them.

Instead of adding an "except for Miss Granger" clause in the oath, he had asked Draco to repeat that he wouldn't share their conversation with any single individual who wasn't connected to the conversation. While it seemed vague, his intent insisted that only select people of the conversation would be able to bypass the constraints of the oath. Miss Granger of course, but Draco could have also sought out Potter and, Resurrection Stone provided, Lily. The castle wards insisted that the oath was binding to the grounds, so no one not on the premises could be included. Severus's intent gave Draco just enough room to work through this identity crisis without extreme risk to the Light.

When Draco left his chambers on Friday evening, he knew he would not go back to his rooms. Faced with running into a housemate and pretending that everything was well and the same, returning to the Head Boy's Rooms was not a good option. From his early years, Severus knew that he preferred to walk the castle at night when something was preying on his mind. As a Slytherin he was quite adept at not being caught (or noticed) when out after curfew; the few times that they crossed paths, of course Severus sent him back to the dungeons with detention. Break all the rules you like, just don't get caught. Get caught, and pay the consequences. Every Slytherin knew it by heart.

He, too, spent that night walking. And when Miss Granger's patronus delivered its cryptic message, his relief was profound. Satisfied that everything would work out, he returned to his chambers. He couldn't remember that last time he felt so well rested. He well remembered the last time he had slept for such a stretch; it was the year before Harry Potter came to Hogwarts. Although the Dark Lord ostensibly was gone for good, he felt such anxiety about the child who was the product of his love and rivalry. When he saw Potter for the first time with that untamed mop of hair and wire rimmed glasses, the memories of his adolescent tormenters returned in a flood. From that point on, Harry never had a chance. Had he resembled Lily, Severus might have taken him under his wing, pushing his archenemy's face from his mind. Harry's vibrant green eyes were not enough of her to overlook the image James Potter.

At the minute, he had more on his mind than his own adolescent history. Tonight, Draco would confirm that he would join the Light, becoming a spy in his own right and working to bring down Voldemort. It was an exciting and frightening thing. He understood first hand what would be demanded of his godson as a spy; fortunately, he wouldn't have to endure the same kind of isolation that Severus had for the last twenty years. Most of his colleagues weren't satisfied with Albus's word that he was trustworthy. While they obliged him in overly formal professionalism, there was always at least a hint of mistrust and wariness. Minerva wavered constantly on the issue, at times treating him like a close friend and others like a mass murderer – which altogether wasn't untrue. How many deaths had he been party to? Worse, how many had he enacted?

A voice echoed through his sitting room. "Master Snape, I implore you, stop your confounded pacing at once! You are ruining my concentration!" Unaware that he had been stomping back and forth through the room as his frustration and anxiety built, Severus stopped moving for a moment and then went to his private storeroom. "My apologies, Master Suponificus. I was unaware I was disturbing you."

"Apology accepted." Ignotus stepped from behind his work table to enter his portrait's foreground. "What is it that's got you so vexed, my boy?"

"Today my godson will join the Light. In less than an hour, he will swear an Oath that will effectively make him into a spy like me."

"Why this is splendid! Just think of what might possibly be accomplished with his addition to the Light. He's a smart lad you know."

"Of course, but this is not the future I wanted for him. The damage his father has done isn't altogether irreversible, but I was hoping to further shield him from this war. I was concerned for his safety before, and my concern has risen exponentially since he became a Deatheater. Now, I don't mind telling you in confidence, I am worried beyond that.

While he was never as cruel as Lucius believed, he also never had to fake it in front of him or the Dark Lord. He thought and behaved as the son of an inner circle member was expected to think and behave. From now on, it will all be a performance. Even subtle changes in his behavior could lead to his death." Severus slumped onto his own work table for support. He knew exactly what would be required of Draco: mentally, physically, and spiritually.

"Of course you're worried for him. You would hardly be the father he needs if you were not having anxiety about this. Still, rest calm in the knowledge that he doesn't have to do this alone as you did." A long pause lilted between them, and Ignotus turned back toward his experiment. "Between you and Miss Granger, he'll have plenty of support."

At this, Severus straightened his posture and walked closer to the portrait. "What do you know of Miss Granger?" he questioned curiously.

"I know that she's not the consummate Gryffindor. Oh she exhibits courage, but she's also a bit sly. She certainly handled Mr. Malfoy well in the west corridor on the sixth floor."

"What's this?" He realized that this must have been part of what the otter's message was about.

"Ah yes, I was continuing my reconnaissance when I heard Mr. Malfoy storm out of here on Friday night. I followed him through the portraits, stealthily you understand, from one area of the castle to another. He seemed to have no purpose in his direction, but eventually made his way to the sixth floor. When he turned the corner into the west wing, the sound of a surprised gasp echoed down the hallway. I strategically moved into the landscape painting next to the Lady Chastity and found Miss Granger at the opposite end of the hallway.

Although Mr. Malfoy was clearly incensed and began shouting at her, it lasted just a moment before his strength left him, and he crumpled to the ground. Miss Granger stared on for just a moment before dashing to one of the empty classrooms. While I was confident she wasn't just leaving him there, I considered dashing back here to warn you. Of course there was no need as she merely checked the classroom – I assume it was for privacy – and then collected Mr. Malfoy, guiding him into the room." Ignotus sat back and looked a bit smug.

"And it never occurred to you to share this information with me? I spent half the night worrying about him." Severus resumed his pacing, with a lighter step than before.

"While that might have been true, by the time I returned to my portrait, you were already gone. Pacing the castle, no doubts. And of course, I had retired having had a full night. There was no time for me to be debriefed as it were."

"Fine, fine. What else did you see?" Satisfied that Severus was conceding, Master Suponificus continued.

"It wasn't quite an hour when they emerged from the classroom. Much to my surprise, they were hand in hand, and when they reached the staircase, Miss Granger requested a direct route to the Head Girl's Room. They took off together, and rather than follow them, I went directly Effie's portrait in front of their destination. She was quite tickled to see me you know. We often spend some hours together talking on the finer points of potions. Upon reaching her portrait, I enquired as to whether she had any available time to refine a new theory on which I am working. She gladly admitted me, and we immediately began a lively conversation about the composition of manticora venom.

Not more than a few minutes later, a rushed looking Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy – still holding hands, now mind – came to the portrait. I gladly had the good sense to conceal myself behind the cauldron before I could be noticed. Miss Granger spoke her password, and Effie admitted them to the Head Girl's Room. As you know I've no cause to spend my time in Gryffindor tower and even less cause to be _inside_ that particular room. I felt for another portrait, but it seems Miss Granger is as suspicious as you are. There are no portraits in her rooms. Not one.

I waited for some time, continuing my debate with Effie for several hours but neither reemerged." At this, Ignotus spluttered a bit, and a very serious look came over his face. "I don't have to tell you that this is quite scandalous. I realize that Miss Granger is a young woman of good sense, and your Mr. Malfoy is more of a gentleman than his father, but this, well this is highly improper."

"Master Suponificus, I understand that it simply was 'not done' during your time, but you and I both know that it certainly was and will continue to happen so long as teenagers have hormone fueled bodies. Truthfully, I much rather Miss Granger than Miss Parkinson."

"You might be right in that, my boy. Poor girl has the face of a Pekingese. Very unfortunate that. Nonetheless, you'll want to spare a moment of conversation to the lad about what it means to spend the evening with a young lady."

"Actually, eventually it will have to come up in conversation. It appears there is something quite serious growing between my godson and Miss Granger. And if what you saw was any indication, soon enough it'll be a regular occurrence seeing Draco slip into the Head Girl's Room. If we are going to maintain secrecy and security, that won't do." There was a knocking on his lounge door, indicating that the individual in question had arrived just on time for their meeting. "You will excuse me, Ignotus, while Draco and I lay the course for his new future."

"Of course, Master Snape. Best of luck to you." With that, the potioneer returned to his dormant experiment and Severus left the storeroom to answer the door. When he opened it, Draco was a wholly different person than the one who had been there just the night before. He looked clean and pressed. No redness around his eyes or cheeks to indicate crying or aggression. Instead, he wore an easy half smile with his relaxed posture. "Good afternoon, Godfather."

"Good afternoon, Draco. Are you ready to proceed?" He needn't have asked the question, but as a formality and good will gesture he let it settle in the silence between them.

"I am." He walked past Severus and headed for his usual seat on the settee. May as well be comfortable; they were bound to be at it for a fair few hours. Following his godson, he took his usual seat. He knitted his fingers together and rested them in his lap, taking a deep breath before beginning.

"When you answer my next question, the oath you took yesterday will dissolve and when that magic has ebbed, we will immediately put a new oath in place. I will just remind you that should you choose to remain allied with your father and the Dark Lord, which I would find regrettable but not unreasonable given your life's upbringing, that your memories will be altered but I will continue to honor my promises to you." He paused, letting this information sink in a bit before proceeding. Draco's manner remained calm and easy, and he inclined his head in a gesture to indicate that he was ready for the question. "Draco, from this moment forward, will you join the Light as a soldier, spy, and protector in the fight against the Dark Lord and all that he stands for to effectively prevent the destruction of the wizarding world as we know it. Say, 'I will' to answer in the affirmative, and 'I will not' to answer in the negative. What say you, Draco Malfoy?"

This was the moment he had been waiting for, and although he was terrified that this decision would mean Draco's death, he was also proud and relieved that he would become part of something more important and bigger than himself. The words came easily with no hesitation. "I will." There was nothing more to say. Magic swirled between them, unseen tendrils curling and uncurling from around Draco's body effectively releasing the oath he had taken. When the last of the magic slipped away, he shut his eyes and sighed.

"Very well, let us continue with the new Oath that will bind you to the Light." Again, Draco nodded his assent, continuing with the formality of the moment. "Repeat after me. I, Draco Malfoy, affirm and promise my allegiance to the Light, its ideals, missions, and members, in an effort to destroy the evil we know as Lord Voldemort and his ideals and followers." Draco recited the oath word for word; when he finished that sentence, Severus continued, producing a small knife from the side table next his chair. "I vow with body, blood, and soul that I will do all in my ability to ensure that the Light is successful in its goals and ventures." As he repeated this line, Severus beckoned for him to extend his right hand. Draco did so, and the blade effortlessly crossed his palm, creating a thin red line. Severus repeated the action on his own right hand, and the two men clasped their palms together. "So it is written in blood that this day I, Draco Malfoy, bear my allegiance to the Light." After the last word fell from his lips, Severus, still gripping their bloody hands together, finalized the oath. "I, Severus Snape, bear witness to this oath, faithfully sealing it with my own blood. So shall it be."

Magic coursed through their arms, much stronger and more powerful than the oath taken the night before. Their hands acted as a conduit, allowing their spoken oaths to pass from one person to the next, holding each other accountable for their allegiances. Blood oaths were tricky things. Regular magical oaths _could_ be disabled and removed. It took much energy, research, and faith to break one, but it was not impossible. Even unbreakable vows had their loopholes.

Blood oaths, however, were completely binding. When blood oaths were tampered with, both the attendant and sealer were in mortal peril. It was an archaic method, largely unused by witches and wizards. In the early days, Riddle had considered blood oaths, but was dissuaded by using his own blood to seal the pacts, which would have been absolutely necessary, particularly at the beginning. The exchange of blood with another person often left trace magical signatures behind. With the right diagnostic spell, it was possible to reveal the signatures bound to an individual. When the spell was performed on Severus, several signatures were evident, chiefly Albus Dumbledore's.

There had been a night not long after Lily's death that he returned to the castle in terrible condition. Albus, alerted by the castle's wards, found him just inside the grounds. With no medicinal supplies on his person, he quickly drew a tablespoon of his own blood and set to reproducing it as makeshift blood replenisher until he could safely levitate Severus into the castle and the hospital ward. Since then, Albus's magical signature shone clearly around Severus each time the spell was performed.

Of course, having another witch or wizard's signature attached to one for all eternity was cause for concern. Riddle understood the risk in allowing someone else to have even a drop or two of his most vital fluid. Blood samples could be taken from any of the bound followers, and his own blood, even in miniscule quantity, could be discerned and used for any number of things. Potions, spells, hexes, and oaths. For this reason, blood oaths were only done in the most serious, and sometimes dangerous, situations.

Outside of the Order of the Phoenix, there needed to be a network of people who were one hundred percent reliable and accountable to the Light. Each new member who took the blood oath was someone who could be counted on in times of crisis; there was never ever a question of their allegiance. After the Sirius Black/Peter Pettigrew debacle, there needed to be something stronger than a basic oath and secret keeping. Albus instituted blood oaths for the Order from the beginning but recognized their importance and strength for other Light followers. Slowly, people who had sword regular oaths to the Light were asked to take blood oaths. Many people, with few reservations, answered the call immediately. Some preferred to remain allied without their blood involved. In the end, it created a network of people who could always be counted on.

For Draco, this was a more than significant step. Although his Dark Mark bound him to Voldemort in magical ways, it didn't require his fealty. Voldemort knew from the beginning that his followers were the kind of people who always wanted more. More money. More power. More prestige. These were people who were only allied to themselves at the end of the day. He understood this because he was the same way. The Dark Mark, which even Albus Dumbledore admitted was a stroke of genius, bound his followers to him so that he could call them, cause them pain, or borrow their magical strength to boost his own power. But, it did not require the bearers to be loyal to him or his cause. The marks were irreversible and irremovable. Once the magical tattoo was set in the skin, that was that.

The magic that sealed the blood oath disappeared, and once he no longer felt it channeling through their hands, Severus released his godson and went to work repairing the scratches. When the wounds were closed to his satisfaction and the extra blood _scourgified_ away, he fell back into his chair in a great huff. It hadn't taken much time to cancel the first oath and enact the second, but it had taken a tremendous amount of magical energy on Severus's part. It would take a little while for his body to recover so that he could adequately begin Draco's first occlumency lesson. Draco stared at him intently.

"You must excuse me, Draco. It will take me a few minutes to recover after such a taxing magical exchange. No doubt you feel a little fatigued as well. It's normal for the process."

"Now that you mention it…" He couldn't help himself; he yawned. "I do feel very tired. As though I've been on the Quidditch pitch all day and haven't had a moments rest."

"That sounds about right. Why don't we have a bit of supper while we recover, and I can begin to brief you about the finer points of what you've just sworn your soul to."

"That sounds excellent. I had lunch before I came down here, but I'm absolutely famished." As if to echo its accord, his stomach grumbled. Severus chuckled.

"Well, that's the first thing I can tell you. Always make sure you're well fed. As you've no doubt recognized, the Dark Lord has no patience or tolerance for human needs. A healthy amount of protein and carbohydrate to keep you active and satisfied is essential. You never know when you might end up in a marathon ass kissing event at the stronghold. You'll need all the food stores your body can handle. Tipton?" A little house elf blinked into the room next to Severus's chair. It bowed low and spoke.

"What can I get for the Master of Potions, Sir?" Clasping its hands together behind its back, it waited for instructions.

"Mr. Malfoy and I are in need of dinners served here as we are unable to go to the dining hall. Would you please send in a selection of whatever is on tonight's menu? Oh and a jug of apple juice as well, if you please."

"Why certainly! Tipton will get the Master of Potions his requests at once." And with that, the little elf was gone again. Of course it was less than a minute when Tipton returned with an impossibly large tray filled with food. As it was Saturday evening, the kitchens prepared fish and turkey for their main proteins. Chicken, beef, and lamb would all be served tomorrow afternoon for Sunday Luncheon. Their side dishes were fresh, sautéed vegetables, rice, mashed potatoes with gravy, and a small tureen of what appeared to be bouillabaisse. Dessert was no doubt hidden under the large silver food dome. "This is excellent, Tipton. Than you."

"Is no trouble. No trouble at all for Tipton to bring the Master of Potions and his guest some food. Now, you just calls out if you need anything else." The elf was gone again.

"Tipton has been with the castle for years. When I was a student here, she used to mend my clothes from home so that I could look a little more respectable. Fish looks good." Without further prelude, both men tucked into their dinners, starved from the anxieties and oaths they had shared. After about ten minutes into eating, Severus decided to "casually" begin conversation. "So, tell me about Miss Granger."


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N Once again, everything belongs to JKR, and I own nothing._

The fork Draco was holding in his left hand fell from his fingertips and clattered to the floor. He found he could do nothing but stare at his godfather. Rationally, he understood that he had only minutes earlier sworn an oath to the Light and now he, Severus, _and_ Hermione were on the same side. Still, having Severus congenially request to hear about her was disconcerting. He felt like he had been caught roaming the halls after curfew as a firstie.

The smirk curved onto Severus's lips, and he responded with nervous laughter while bending to pick up the fork. It bought him valuable seconds to collect himself and decide how much to reveal. Given the history he recently learned, Draco was reasonably sure that he could tell Severus everything. But, he wasn't sure that he was prepared to share so much. Things with Hermione were still so new, and there was something exciting about keeping her a secret, at least in part. He replaced the utensil on his tray, sat the knife next to it, and took a breath.

Before he could begin to offer an explanation, Severus spoke. "I understand your hesitance. I know that it will be difficult to immediately recognize what is safe to disclose and what is not. I also know that it will take some time for you to believe you are now an acting member of the Light and can share in confidence with me _anything_ attached to it.

Miss Granger showed me the arithmantic equations and spectral graphs Friday afternoon. She told me only that the two of you shared an 'unexpected interaction' that apparently changed the trajectory of the war. Of course her work was sound, and it became clear that the two of you were meant to work together to bring the war to a successful closure. We agreed that it would be easier were I to introduce you to the Light rather than she. I certainly understood it would cause you distress to hear the truth. Imagine my relief when I received her message very early this morning that she was the first to intercept you after leaving my quarters."

Severus also set his cutlery aside as he spoke to Draco. His tone was soft, soothing. Taking a new cleansing breath, he met his godfather's eyes and answered his question. "She's, well, nothing short of a miracle." The statement hovered in the air between them, and after a moment Severus inclined his head, his eyes warm, indicating that he should continue. "The last 48 hours have rushed by so quickly, and I've had little time to properly digest everything." He paused again, looking back toward his partially eaten dinner. Draco pulled his wand from the pocket of his robes, _scourgified_ the fork, and continued eating while he let the events unravel.

"I've never spent any time alone with her. We've always interacted in a classroom setting, and when we've met outside of one, she's always been with Potter and the Weasel. Being muggleborn, I wrote her off from the beginning, but after first year ended and Father knew her marks had beaten mine, my hate and disgust for her grew." While he thoroughly chewed a bite of fish with vegetables, both he and Severus relived the unspoken side story of his last remark. Lucius had nearly ripped Draco's ear off dragging him through Malfoy Manor screaming about the dishonor and shame he brought to the family for allowing a mudblood to surpass his scores. Severus had been the one to mend the wound; it wasn't the first, and it wouldn't be the last.

"She caught me in the Prefect's Bathroom when I had forgotten to ward the door. I always knew that she was powerful, but I had never seen a true demonstration of her power. She managed to stick me to the tub for more than an hour while she, erm, engaged me." Somehow this was very different than sharing his exploits with Pansy. He reached for a glass of wine that had appeared on the side table and drank deeply, allowing the tannic, red liquid to coat his mouth before swallowing. Replacing the glass, he rallied and continued. "By the time she left me to myself again, I was resolved to exact revenge. When I returned to my room, I fell asleep quickly while forming plans for her humiliation. It was the first night since _before_ that I haven't had a nightmare. I didn't wake once, and I knew that was significant."

With his plate clear and the wine glass empty, he stacked the dish with Severus's on the serving tray and reached to uncover the dessert. The silver dome revealed two goblets filled with syllabub, which were still perfectly chilled. Passing one of the glasses to his godfather, Draco then took his own from the platter and swirled his spoon through the lush cream before taking the first bite. The texture was light and fluffy at first but quickly liquefied, and the subtle flavors made their way into every crevice of his mouth. After his first swallow, he reveled in the aftertaste that was somehow unsurprising. Although it was faint, he tasted the caramel. "My initial plan was to ever so slightly modify my behavior toward her. Of course I would still be as wretched and confrontational to Potter and the Weasel as ever, but I would attempt to leave her out of it. I resolved to stop calling her mudblood as well as impart strategic kindnesses toward her to lure her closer to me."

"Well, that certainly makes sense. You're fortunate your classmates are not as observant as I. From the moment you approached the potions's classroom on Friday, I knew something was different. Your breach of pureblood etiquette in using her given name, as well as the hastily propped open door, alerted me to a change either in you or between you. When she clearly showed signs of distress at being partnered with you, I concluded that more observation was required, hence changing the assigned potion for brewing."

They amicably finished their syllabub before continuing the conversation; each thinking about how much had changed over the course of the last few days. When their empty dessert glasses were returned to the tray, Tipton popped back into the room and removed the ceramic skeletons of their dinner. Severus stood from his seat and stretched his knotted muscles before turning toward his liquor cabinet. He filled two rocks glasses with a finger each of fire whisky and returned to his seat.

Draco took a glass and watched the amber liquor sheet around its side for a moment before taking a small sip. The heat and warmth immediately flooded his senses, and he relaxed further into the chair. "That was what really turned things for me. In all the years we've been in classes together, we've never had to work together. Understandably so as most professors don't like to mix Slytherins and Gryffindors for fear of nasty results, but there was something about being able to openly observe her working. At first, I followed my plans and treated her respectfully despite the fact that she baited me several times in hopes of an outburst. Like you, she knew in the hallway that something was up.

Brewing with her was unlike anything I've ever experienced. I'm not sure when I stopped actively thinking and just gave into the process, but I felt completely at ease with her. Our skills complimented each other, and we blended seamlessly together which is why our potion was successful. At the end when I had a moment to actually watch her sing the last of the incantation…" He hesitated. This was something that he had only _just_ admitted in his own heart, let alone share with Severus. He stared into his godfather's black eyes. "She was the most beautiful, radiant person I had ever seen. She emanated raw power but exhibited such control. It was nearly breathtaking." He drained the glass and sat it on the small table between them. Severus circled the tumbler in his fingertips, allowing the last of the amber liquor to swirl around the bottom in a clockwise pattern.

"I hate to admit it, but I must agree with you. I rarely see her equal in the classroom. Even more astonishing considering that she is muggleborn. Miss Granger truly is the exception to the rule, even when blood status is taken into account. Few purebloods could equal her." He, too, finished his drink, placing the emptied glass next to Draco's.

"When she stopped and looked at me, we shared an honest moment between us. We were genuinely pleased that we had been successful in brewing the potion. But more than that, we were pleased for _each other_. Of course you rightfully 'broke the spell,' as it were, when you called for the sample. She didn't miss a thing, collecting all of the right materials _and_ casting the bubble head charm.

After class, when I replayed our cleanup of the work station, I was cursing myself at first for not casting the charm right after she had. Then, the more I thought about it, I was glad I hadn't. The compliment I had given her was absolutely genuine; breathing the potion's vapors relaxed me to a point where I could tell her that honestly with no hidden meanings or deceptions. More than an hour later, I concluded that I didn't hate Hermione Granger; I wasn't even sure I disliked her. And from there, the day just got stranger and stranger."

Feeling as though he had said quite enough, Draco dropped back into the seat, closed his eyes, and gently rubbed them with his fingers. He continued as Severus responded. "It's been a remarkable amount of information to absorb in so little time. Still, you're handling it much better than I first presumed you might. Clearly, Miss Granger has been helping with the adjustment. No doubt she's given you one of her 'research' speeches." The last was followed by a smirk. Outside of her arithmancy demonstration in his office, he'd never been on the receiving end of one of her rants. He overheard them often enough while he surreptitiously was watching the trio during meals or in the corridors. The witch certainly knew how to simultaneously bore and infuriate a crowd.

"Ah, yes I heard one of those earlier today for the first time. You know what's interesting? She doesn't realize that she's completely changed her demeanor when she begins lecturing."

"Certainly that makes sense. As a teacher, I've honed a particular performance for my students, and I can slip in and out of that performance easily with little to no thought. You've seen it happen when you've followed me to the office straight from class. If I had to speculate, I'd say that she's created that persona as a defense mechanism. It makes it more difficult to challenge her or the ideas when she presents them with so much force and certainty."

"When I told her my observation, she did get defensive, but she explained that after seven years of dealing with Potter and Weasley that it had become almost second nature."

"Draco, you realize that you are in possession of information about one of her greatest weaknesses?" Severus raised his eyebrow high. This was a test; he could feel it! Of course he had known all along that Hermione was insecure. Always needing to prove that she belonged at Hogwarts and more so in the wizarding world. A week ago, he would have exploited the information to his advantage over her. Now, he felt as though he needed to protect the information, to protect her from what it could mean in the hands of the wrong people. "Your silence tells me everything I need to know."

In a rare moment of affection, Severus reached across the gap between them, the cuff of his robes skimming the rims of the glasses, and patted his left knee. "I'm happy for you, Draco. As I told you, my love for Lily Evans sustained me through some of my darkest moments. As my love was unrequited, I can only imagine what it may do for you when it is reciprocated." He retracted his hand and settled further into his chair. "However," his tone taking on a serious, almost ominous quality, "this also means that we _must_ be careful and proactive in keeping this secret from the Dark Lord. Therefore, we will commence with Occlumency lessons tonight. If you wish to keep Miss Granger safe, as well as yourself and any other members of the Light who become privileged to your allegiance, you _must_ keep the Dark Lord from those memories."

Draco nodded his assent. Before he could think, speak, or move, Severus shouted, "Begin!" and pain sliced through the front of his brain. Images flashed through his mind faster than he could identify them, and a moment later he let darkness overtake him.

***SS***

Hermione and Ginny casually made their way to the Main Hall. Only few students dawdled here and there as it was Saturday. In fact, they were among the first students to reach the hall and settle themselves at the house tables before the dinner hour officially began. True to form, Hermione dug through her overburdened backpack and pulled out her potions's essay and textbook. Ginny rolled her eyes but conceded and also retrieved an essay from her significantly lighter satchel. Intermediate charms was the order of the day for her. Both women turned their attention toward their schoolwork, writing in silence.

It wasn't until Harry slid into the seat next to Hermione and ribbed her once or twice with his elbow that she looked up from her work. This wasn't the first time she had been startled at the dinner table. Platters of food were beginning to materialize and her housemates crowded the communal benches. "Heya, Hermione!" said Harry joyfully. He looked like the cat that ate the canary. Something was definitely going on. She rolled her parchment and returned it, along with her textbook, to her bag. "So, what have you two been up to today? I came down to the common room to find you to work on our potions's essays, but you were nowhere to be found."

"Oh you know. We were here, there, and everywhere." Harry looked past her and gave Ron, who had seated himself on the other side of Ginny, a conspiratorial wink.

"You know what, Harry? I'm not going to take the bait, and furthermore, I'm not even going to chastise you. I'm not your mother, and it's not my responsibility to chase after you. The last time I checked, I was just your friend, and your mother was still dead." She didn't give him a second to process the hard truth she had just leveled at him. Quickly, Hermione turned away, snatching her pack from the floor and made her way to the back of the Great Hall.

"How dare you insult my mother's memory?" shrieked Harry. Mentally she shook her head. He was just stupid and hot-headed enough to provoke an altercation. Hermione silently and wandlessly shielded her back and continued to leave. Just before she reached the wooden doors, she felt the stunner ricochet from her back. That's it!

Whirling around to face her friend, she quickly snatched her wand from its place in her robes and fired back a hex. It immediately brought Harry to his knees. The whole of the Great Hall was watching what was happening in the aisle between the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw tables. Hermione strode fiercely back through the room, wand aimed. The expression on her face was murderous. "How dare I? How dare you? Sneaking out to Hogsmead, setting up pranks, blowing off your lessons. We are at _war_, Harry Potter, people are dying everyday, and you are as good as _pissing_ on your mother's memory with your behavior. You're a coward. You didn't even have the decency to demand that I face you before you tried to hex me, and it appears that you didn't begin to imagine that I would retaliate and hex back. No, not you, not The-Boy-Who-Lived. Stop behaving like a _fucking_ _child_!"

"That will be quite enough, Miss Granger." Professor McGonagall's voice rang through the room. Hermione gave a final pointed stare at Harry, who was still on his knees in front of her, before she sheathed her wand and looked up at her head of house. McGonagall had made her way down from the dais to the student floor and was standing several meters away by the head of the Gryffindor table. Once Hermione made eye contact, she walked forward at a measured pace and closed the distance between them. "Yes, I think that is quite enough. You will both follow me to the Headmaster's office. Now!"

Wordlessly, Professor McGonagall walked past them and headed for the doors. Hermione immediately followed, not caring if Harry pulled himself up from the floor. She was aware she had sent a particularly lasting hex (although she was careful to use one that caused no real damage as such) and knew his knees likely were hurting. She stared at the back of McGonagall's tartan robes and as they exited the hall, wondered if Draco was having a similarly pleasant evening.


	19. Chapter 19

Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk in the Headmaster's Office twirling a gyroscope. He watched as the metal wheel spun round and round, resisting gravity's force. Just as he was balancing it on a suspended piece of string, the castle's wards let him know that he was expecting visitors. And, just a moment later he could hear the shifting staircase leading to his reception room. A small spyglass, located next to Headmaster Dippet's portrait, showed him the furious face of Harry Potter. A soul deep sigh rose from deep within his chest, and feeling every inch the old man that he truly was, Albus rose from his chair and went to meet his guests.

As he passed from his inner office to the reception room, he firmly affixed his usual façade: the doddering grandfatherly figure with the twinkle in his eye. When the door opened, he was unsurprised to see Minerva following Harry. For several weeks, she had been expressing concerns about his behavior and seeming disinterest in the world outside of Hogwarts. He was, however, surprised to see the cold, hard face of Hermione Granger also enter the room. Instead of flanking Harry when they came to stand in front of him, she stood to Minerva's side. Albus knew that whatever was about to happen was not going to be good.

"Well, well, what a surprise!" he clucked jovially. "What brings some of my favorite people to my office at this hour? Surely you're not here to complain about the food!" He hoped his small joke and overly happy manner would ease the tension; it didn't. Harry's posture stiffened and his lips pursed, indicating the salvo of words building in his throat. Fortunately, Minerva stepped in before they could be released. "It seems Mr. Potter and Miss Granger felt it necessary to disrupt the dinner hour with some impromptu dueling."

"Professor McGonagall, I hardly think being hexed when my back is turned can be considered civil enough to constitute dueling." Hermione sharply retorted. And, in true childish form, Harry swiftly responded.

"She started it! She insulted my mother!" He was fuming, clearly forcing himself to remain quiet beyond his rebuttal.

"Now, now. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Perhaps we should adjourn to my office where we can discuss the matter from comfortable chairs instead of standing here like Dodo birds?" Adding a well-placed eye twinkle for effect, Albus gestured for them to head through the reception area to his inner office. Minerva dutifully followed his instructions and made her way through the door with Hermione closely behind. Harry huffed loudly before stomping after them. Albus's façade slipped for just a moment as he followed, revealing anguish in his eyes.

Settling himself behind his desk, Albus lifted the candy bowl, and in his customary way proffered sweets. "Sherbet lemon? No? Alright then, suppose we start at the beginning then. Miss Granger, if you please."

"Certainly. Ginny and I were doing our coursework at the house table while waiting for the dinner hour to begin. I had gone in search of Harry and Ron in the common room, but by all accounts they were nowhere to be found. When they turned up in the Great Hall, of course I asked where they had been all afternoon. After sharing a mischievous look with Ron, Harry replied, 'here, there, and everywhere,' which I interpreted as, 'we snuck out of the castle and have been having a grand old time in Hogsmead, not giving a toss about our own safety nor our responsibilities as key figures in the war.' I told Harry that I wasn't about to take the bait because I'm not his mum, and it's not my job to look after him. I hoped reminding him that she's deceased might sober him enough to make him at least a little contrite. I picked up my things and made for the door, wishing that impulsive anger wouldn't rule his next decisions. But of course my wish went ungranted when he hexed me whle my back was turned. Fortunately, I had the good sense to shield myself, but I absolutely turned and fired back."

"Well this is serious." Albus turned his attention toward Harry, who was sullenly staring at his knees. Hermione's recollection of the events did not paint him in a favorable light. "First, did you hex Miss Granger while her back was turned?" Although his tone was soft, it was clear he was seeking the no-nonsense answer.

"I did, but she insulted my mother. I…"

"That will do, Mr. Potter. I don't have to tell you that not only is it bad form to hex a friend while their back is turned, but it's also against school rules. But, what disturbs me more in this case is Miss Granger's _accusation_…" He paused, looking to Hermione to confirm his word choice. Their eyes met, and she gave a curt nod. Albus continued, "that you have been away from the castle grounds today, and what's more, that you have been in Hogsmead Village with Mr. Weasley without anyone knowing or supervision." It wasn't a question as such, but it was clear that his expectation was that Harry would fess up to sneaking out of the castle.

Sinking into his chair, Harry's posture now reflected shame rather than anger and frustration. He'd been caught, and he would have to explain himself. And worse, face the consequences. Harry doubled over and put his head in his hands. "Professor McGonagall, would you and Miss Granger mind returning to the reception room for a few minutes while Mr. Potter and I speak privately?"

"Not at all, Professor Dumbledore," replied Minerva. She and Hermione rose from their seats, leaving Harry Potter to his fate. When the door closed behind them, Hermione began to pace. Watching the young woman who was undoubtedly her favorite student, Minerva contemplated several different ways to broach a potentially tricky subject: Draco Malfoy. She decided that being direct was probably her best course of action.

"Miss Granger, earlier today I saw Mr. Malfoy in the Gryffindor corridor. Naturally I was suspicious as Slytherins rarely venture so far from the dungeons without a purpose." She eyed Hermione cautiously, cataloguing the small changes in her features. She stopped pacing and turned toward Minerva with an open, calm face.

"We spent several hours hashing through some of our duties. Of course when we work in the library or the courtyard, the prefects tend to pester us about schedule changes and rounds. It can be difficult to work efficiently. I also made it clear that I would _not_ be working in the dungeons, which left him no other alternative."

"I see. That was exactly what he had told me when I questioned him." She was waiting for Hermione to give something away, that there would be a small crack in her armor to provide a little insight to the situation. Sitting in one of the wingback chairs near the fireplace, Minerva folded her hands and chewed her bottom lip for a minute before continuing. "Miss Granger. Hermione, dear. I don't want to sound like an old fuddy duddy or overprotective mother hen. I realize that you're of age and that you're well and truly capable of taking care of yourself, but I've lived in this castle for a long time both as a faculty member and student. The teachers here know much more about the private lives of the students than they would probably like to; it's part of being a boarding school. So, I know the reputation that Mr. Malfoy has garnered for himself in the last few years. Many young women here have commented on his, erm, desirability not only in terms of his upbringing and charm but looks as well." Her eyes bored into Hermione's as she finished. "I don't want you to be caught up, as many young women have before, in the act. Make no mistake, it is an act. Pureblood families like the Malfoys, even without their political tendencies, don't believe in love or passion. First and foremost they strategize for the highest possible gain."

There. She'd said it. While she'd tried to be as delicate as possible, she also tried to make her warning crystal clear. Minerva watched as her charge processed what she had said and formed a response.

"Professor McGonagall, I'm grateful for your concern and advice. While I can't disagree with many of the other girls that there is _something_ about Malfoy, it's not something that I really want. I can't easily forget that he's spent every moment possible making my life misery since first year. I'm a sensible young woman, and I realize that any positive thoughts I have for anyone like him are much better left to my fantasy life than reality. Rest assured, I'll be professional and courteous, but that's as far as I go."

Hermione had said all of the right words. She had been gracious and clear in reassuring her that she had no personal interest in Malfoy beyond their Head Duties. Still, something didn't sit right in her stomach. While Minerva had never known or thought Hermione to be a liar, there was something niggling her that didn't ring true. She tried again to coax something from her.

"Well that's a relief. I am sorry to address it so, but I have grown rather fond of you over the years. Still, I don't mind telling you in confidence that I can't help but agree with popular opinion; he's practically become a man over night."

"Haven't we all? What I mean is, haven't we all become adults, at least physically, in the last year or two? Certainly the change is more marked in some than others, but we do a lot of maturing the last two years or so." This was not at all the response Minerva was hoping for, but it was difficult. It wasn't exactly like she was the new, young staff member she had once been. Then she might've been able to relate as a peer, and did as she quickly recalled. But now? Now she was an old woman and to say more about Draco Malfoy and his grownup body would make her look practically lecherous. (Although in her heart of hearts, she did have to admit that he had become a rather attractive young man.)

"Quite right, dear, quite right," and she left it at that. They sat by the little hearth in amiable silence, waiting for Harry and Albus to emerge.

**SS**

Draco stumbled back to his room hugging the wall the whole way. He felt like he was hung over, the kind that happens after drinking a whole bottle of fire whisky and then capping it off with a glass of wine. His head pounded; his stomach lurched. And he was beyond grateful when he reached the sanctuary of his rooms. Severus had been merciless. For more than an hour he viciously delved into his mind, flinging memories around at will. He had been helpless for most of the assault. Forty-five minutes into it, a part of him, feeling his anger building deep within, fought back and managed to eject Severus from his mind.

His godfather looked supremely pleased and offered praise for his effort. "It took you long enough, but well done. Find the thing that forced you to close your mind and expel me. Feel it building. Again!" And just like that, Severus stormed back into his memories. It took Draco a full ten minutes to find his anger again and tap into it. He managed to push his godfather out once more, and at that point Severus called it quits. His whole body ached, and his head felt as though it would explode from the pressure building inside of it.

They sat quietly for some minutes. Draco's eyes drifted shut, but they were jarred open when he felt someone gently shaking his shoulder. "You'll need to get back to your room shortly before the exhaustion totally overtakes you. I'll give you a few potions for the aches and pains, as well as a slight sedative." When he rose from the chair, the world spun and he collapsed back into the seat. Severus hoisted him up again, closing two phials into his hand. "I know it's awful, but you will survive. Gods willing this will be the worst you endure before this war is over." And with that, he found himself in the corridor.

Upon reaching his room, he quickly made for the bed. He had no idea what time it was, only that sleep was eminent. Sweet delicious sleep. Gingerly, he sat on the edge of the bed but his muscles protested, renewing the pain that coursed through him. He drank the first phial filled with a viscous purple liquid. Moments later he felt a melting sensation flit through his body. After two minutes, allowing the potion to work its magic, Draco stretched his arms and legs. No more pain. He unstoppered the second potion, fully intending to drink it down and then curl into his inviting bed.

Before he could raise the glass tube to his lips, he heard a tremendous banging on his door. "Oi! Drake, open up!" Goyle's muffled voice echoed through his lounge and into his bedroom. "Shit," he thought to himself. Replacing the cork, he laid the potion on his nightstand and stood. Since the pain had gone, he could think a little more clearly and quickly slapped his usual blasé expression onto his face. Goyle resumed banging on his door. He quickly jerked it open.

"Goyle! There's no reason to break down my door. Now, what's going on?"

"Oh you missed it, Boss. You really missed it." Goyle shouldered past Draco into his room. He hadn't noticed but Crabbe, Pansy, and Blaise were clustered around his doorway as well. It seemed Goyle's hulkish body had eclipsed them. They, too, entered the room.

"He's right," cackled Pansy. "It's better than we could've hoped for." Her voice positively dripped acid. He knew that tone. This was about to turn into a Deatheater meeting, although he was the only one present with a legitimate mark.

"I've spent the evening with Severus. What's been going on?" Zabini stepped in to fill in the details.

"We were just beginning dinner when we heard the commotion over at the Gryffindor table. While we couldn't make out a lot of it, we gather that Potter and his muggleborn friend had a spat. She huffed away from the table, and then he shouted something about insulting his mum. And then…" Blaise let the tension rise a bit before finishing his sentence. "He hexed her! He threw some kind of stunner at her full force while she was leaving."

Already in a fragile state of mind, Draco had to keep mentally telling himself not to break cover, not to run out of the room to find Hermione, and not to let his mask slip. "Please tell me she screamed. A lot." He managed to sound bored but mildly excited.

"That's the thing of it," Crabbe broke into the conversation. "The hex bounced off. Like she knew it was coming or something. But man, she turned around and fired one back at Potter that brought him to his knees. If it hadn't been a mudblood what done it, I would've said it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."

He relaxed a little inside. It sounded as though Hermione hadn't been hurt and better, she had publicly humiliated Potter. His heart puffed with pride while his face remained neutral. "So then what happened? Surely they didn't duel right there in the Great Hall."

"No, of course not. McGonagall came down from the dais and effectively squashed anything else. They followed her to Dumbledore's office," explained Blaise.

"But Draco don't you see?" Pansy pushed through the other boys to stand directly in front of him. Her squat face tinted an unpleasant red color and a maniacal gleam in her eyes. "They're fighting with each other. Even Potter's friends are starting to turn on him. This will leave him exposed. Imagine how easy it will be to nab him and…"

"Yes, imagine it, Pansy." Draco's voice went hard and his eyes took on a flat, violent quality. "You know very well the Dark Lord has issued explicit orders that Potter is not to be touched while at school, and until those orders change, there will be no nabbing. If you, or any of the rest of you, even attempt to touch Potter, you can bet you will not receive praise or boons for your interference with the Dark Lord's plans." Strategically, he pulled back his fury and slightly shifted his tone toward almost praise. "As it is, this is valuable information. I shall immediately pass it along to the correct channels. I suggest the rest of you include these details in your next letters home. Remember, you should mention it casually, as if in passing, to deflect suspicion."

"Of course, Draco. I never meant to imply that we would interfere, only that we were prepared to act should the Dark Lord see fit." Pansy attempted to diffuse the focus on her by including everyone. He thought her attempt was not only feeble but pathetic. Blaise had no ties to the Dark Lord or Deatheaters beyond his classmates, and he usually kept mostly to himself. He wasn't interested in fighting a war, only maintaining his status as a pureblood. As for Crabbe and Goyle, they didn't have any desires to stage a coup. No, they were soldiers and good soldiers follow orders; life was easier that way.

Pansy was the one to watch. He briefly wondered if Aunt Bella had shown such zeal when she was 16. Although her father was in good standing with the Dark Lord, it certainly didn't cast any light on Pansy. She had begged to take the mark over the summer but was vehemently denied. Draco had been greatly relieved for her, although he could never tell her that. They weren't friends exactly, but they had grown up together, were sometimes lovers, and more importantly, he knew firsthand what female Deatheaters went through. Unmarried Deatheater women weren't thought of as "real" members as such. It made him cringe to think of Pansy passed from "brother to brother" as her only way to gain status and rank. She didn't know it, but she had dodged an Unforgivable.

"I'll make sure to include that information in my communication. Now, each of you needs to go back to the common room to make an appearance with the rest of the house. You know we have to maintain our public personas."

"Right-o, Drake. Will you come along?"

"Afraid not, Greg. I have some work to do here, but you can bet I'll be along in the morning before breakfast." Goyle responded with a big smile and lumbered toward the door, closely followed by Crabbe. Pansy eyed him carefully before following them out. Blaise remained for a minute, also looking him over.

"Something is different about you." It wasn't a question. Blaise was more observant than most, and Draco knew he'd have to handle this next exchange carefully.

"You noticed then?"

"You look like shit, and I know you haven't been summoned lately. Quidditch hasn't been anymore demanding than normal, neither have classes. You say you spent the whole night with Professor Snape, and I believe you. I saw the owl at dinnertime on Friday. So what's he doing to you?" A sigh of relief drifted through his mind.

"I'm in training."

"And that's all you're going to tell me."

"Blaise, it's all I can tell you. I know you don't want to get involved, and on some level I understand that. If I tell you anymore, then I'm obligated to recruit you."

"I'm not interested in being recruited." He hesitated and rubbed the back of his head. "Aw hell, man. I don't want to sound like a pouf or anything, but I want you to know that you've got my ear. If you need it, that is." Blaise Zabini had just as good as called himself a friend. Draco understood this was significant. He extended his hand which visibly surprised Blaise. He took Draco's hand, and they firmly shook twice and let go.

"I'll keep that in mind, Blaise. I'll keep it in mind." And to give further indication that he was genuine, he smiled. He didn't smirk or twist his lips into a half smile; he actually smiled. Satisfied with their final exchange, Blaise left the room.

As soon as the door closed, Draco began to pace. His instinct was to find Hermione and make sure that she was ok. Suppressing his desire to see her, he walked to the fireplace, grabbed a bit of floo powder from the brass bowl, and tossed it into the fireplace. "Professor Snape's Quarters!" A moment later, his godfather's face hovered in the green flames. "What is it, Mr. Malfoy?"

"A new development has occurred that needs immediate attention. May I come through?" Once again, he tried to keep his words formal and vague in case there were prying ears on the floo network.

"One moment, Mr. Malfoy." Severus's head disappeared only to return a few seconds later. "Step through." He was gone again, but Draco walked into the flames and found himself in his godfather's quarters. "What has happened?" It was best to get straight to the point.

"Just a few moments after I made it back to my room and drank the pain potion you gave me, thanks for that by the way, Gregory Goyle started banging on my door. He, Zabini, Pansy, and Crabbe, came to gloat about something that had happened during dinner. Apparently, Potter hexed Hermione while she was exiting the Great Hall after she said something about his mother. Hermione had shielded herself as though she expected it, but returned a hex of her own, dropping Potter to the ground.

Pansy was practically gushing when she started to talk about the in-fighting between the trio and 'nabbing' Potter to take him to the Dark Lord. I reminded her that there are standing orders forbidding interference with Potter, and she backed down but it felt like she was already planning.

"To add to the mess, when Blaise and I were left alone, he told me he noticed that something was different about me. His assumption was that it had to do with you, and I confirmed that you were training me. Of course I gave him no specifics, reminding him that I understood he didn't want to get drawn into the war if possible. Then, he practically said, 'I'm your friend, and you can trust me.' I non-committaly said, 'I'll keep that in mind,' and we let it go at that." By the time he finished, Draco felt his heart pounding in his chest.

Severus walked toward him and gripped his shoulder. "It was wise to come to me first. As this incident involves Miss Granger, I understand that perhaps your instinct was to seek her out." Draco's eyes widened, and he quickly lowered his head to conceal them. "Draco, understand that it's right that you should _feel_ this way, but it's also right that you should act contrarily to your feelings. No matter what, reporting new information will always come first." He put his finger under Draco's chin and raised his face. "You did the right thing."

Draco beamed inside. He had done the right thing. And surprisingly, it felt good. Severus let his hand drop, and Draco plopped back into the chair he had occupied for most of the evening. "When they started talking about her, I started chanting in my head not to break, that I had to keep it together so they wouldn't suspect. It was so difficult. How am I going to manage during everyday normal life? And more, how will I manage _if_ something happens to her?"

"The truth is that you simply will. Because the moment you don't, we all will die. How do you think I've managed to stay alive for so long?" Severus had also returned to his seat. His elbows rested on his knees, and his fingers knitted together while his thumbs tapped in regular intervals. "It's good that you're feeling some doubt and anxiety about this. The moment you get complacent is the moment you're guaranteed to slip up." He rose from his chair and beckoned for his godson to do the same. "I realize that you're tired and it's been a taxing day, but we need to make one more journey before you can rest for the night." Draco rose, suspecting but not knowing what was in store for him. "We must go to the Headmaster."

Severus walked over to the fireplace and tossed in a handful of floo powder from a jade bowl that was carved with serpents. Stepping in he called out, "Headmaster's Office!" The flames surrounded him, and he disappeared. Draco rubbed his weary eyes and followed his godfather.


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N Thank you so much for your continued readership and support. As a quick Christmas pressie, here's a super quick second update. Once again, everything belongs to JKR. I'm just having a little fun._

Waiting for Harry and Professor Dumbledore to finish in the Headmaster's Office seemed to take forever. And on top of it, Hermione had to sit through McGonagall's nosy lecture about Draco. Of course she knew exactly what to say to appease her Head of House. And really, after the last six years, Minerva McGonagall was her substitute mum much of the time, and her heart wasn't out of place in broaching the subject. Still, it goaded Hermione that McGonagall assumed that she knew anything about Draco as an individual. Where she might be justified in her assessment of his character generally, she didn't know anything about him personally. McGonagall hadn't seen him curl into a ball in the shower shaking with shame and fear. She hadn't felt him wrap his body around her after making love. She didn't know him. Period.

Hermione wondered how he was getting along with Professor Snape; if Harry's Occlumency "lessons" were anything to go on, he was not having a pleasant time. She resolved to send a note through the floo to his rooms that absolved him of their scheduled evening conversation. The likelihood was that he would be beyond knackered and falling asleep on the floor wasn't going to do him any favors the following day. As annoying as it was to be stuck in Dumbledore's reception room, it was nothing compared to Draco's situation.

The door to the inner office clicked and swung open a few inches, indicating that Harry and the headmaster were finished. McGonagall gave her a pointed look, and they rose from their chairs and returned to the office. "Excellent!" greeted Dumbledore. "I believe we have resolved some of the issues at hand and from this point on will be making more productive progress in all things. First, Harry, I believe you have some things to say." As soon as the sentence left Dumbledore's lips she wanted to huff and roll her eyes. Forcing herself to remain still and silent, she faced her friend.

"Hermione, I'm sorry for hexing you. I should have never taken my anger out on you." His face was genuine, and she felt herself soften a little bit. After all, they had been close for so many years. He was her best friend, and although they had drifted apart in the last year or so, when the moment came, Hermione found that she couldn't dismiss him. "I forgive you, Harry. But I also need you to know that I was absolutely serious this evening. It's time to grow up."

"You're right; I know that you are. I just don't know if I'm ready or if I'll ever be."

"I think the point is that you don't have a choice. Voldemort marked you as his equal. There was never a choice." Harry hung his head as if for the first time truly processing what it meant to be "The Chosen One." Clapping filled the room.

"Wonderful, wonderful! I think things will go ahead just nicely from now on. This is excellent." Dumbledore moved through the room toward the other occupants, laying a hand on the shoulders of McGonagall and Harry. "Professor McGonagall, if you would be so kind, would you please escort Mr. Potter to his common room? I have a few little things I would like to discuss with our Head Girl."

"Gladly," she replied and swept from the room firmly pushing Harry ahead of her.

"Now Miss Granger, let us get down to brass tacks." Dumbledore settled himself behind his desk again and gestured to the nearest chair. He also proffered the candy dish once more. This time she accepted his offer and picked up a sherbet lemon. The taste of the candy was pleasantly tart, and she allowed its juice to fill her mouth before swallowing, enjoying the sweet sensation. "I hate to admit it Miss Granger, but I almost wish that I had attempted to provoke Harry's anger as a way to get him to come around. Using his mother, while a little crude, was certainly most effective. Bravo."

"Well, sir, it certainly wasn't premeditated, but I'd had my fill of his antics, especially since I've been working my bum off trying to find ways to help the Light."

"Ah yes, your Arithmancy project. I have heard some wonderful things from Professor Vector about your aptitude for the subject. I wonder if you might consider working more closely with her on your extracurricular activities?" Hermione was stunned. Of course she assumed that Professor Dumbledore knew at least a little bit about what she was doing, but to be offered one to one time with Professor Vector to work on her calculations was a dream come true.

"I would love to work with Professor Vector more closely! This would be a wonderful opportunity not only to expand my education of Arithmancy, but also join forces in terms of making predictions for the war."

"Quite right, quite right. I'll have Septima contact you as soon as she is able to schedule some time together." Standing, Dumbledore shuffled to the side of his desk, indicating that the meeting was over. Hermione also stood, but before she could turn away, he spoke again. "One more thing, Miss Granger. I understand that you and our Head Boy have been struggling to find common ground to perform your duties. While I'm all for inter-house cooperation, I understand that it can at times be uncomfortable to work in 'rival territory' as it were. Therefore, I've decided to make an exception in the rules and connect the floos between your private chambers so that you may work at will without needing to explain your whereabouts every time you or Mr. Malfoy find yourself on the other's house turf. Be sure to let him know of the change in policy."

If she was stunned before, Hermione was positively gobsmacked now. And to boot, Professor Dumbledore's eyes weren't twinkling. No, they were sparkling with mirth. He knew! He understood! Relief she hadn't known she was seeking coursed through her veins, and she sucked in a ragged breath to regain her composure. "Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. I'll be sure to let him know." He motioned toward the door and with no more words exchanged, Hermione left the Headmaster's Office for her own rooms.

"Headmaster! Headmaster!" a voice was shouting from somewhere behind him. Turning, he caught sight of a wizard in the foreground of a landscape painting that was typically empty. "Master Suponificus! How wonderful to see you. It's been ages."

"Yes, yes, you're quite right about that, but at the minute, I come bearing important news. Master Snape has sent me to inform you that he will likely be arriving in your office shortly. He'll be bringing Mr. Malfoy with him."

"Oh I see. Well this is news indeed. Did he give reasons why they would be coming to my office at this hour?"

"No, sir. I heard them speaking through the floo but couldn't quite understand the conversation. Master Snape requested I come to your office and let you know they would be along."

"Very interesting."

"Headmaster if I may be bold, I am sure this will have something to do with Mr. Malfoy's recent induction to the Light. Why I wouldn't be surprised if he's done something exemplary already. After the way he suffered this afternoon, why I have no doubts in his allegiance."

"Suffered? Pray tell, Ignotus, what happened to Mr. Malfoy this afternoon?" Albus approached the painting to speak more directly with the potions master.

"Why after he came to Master Snape's quarters to take his official oath they began his Occlumency training. The boy was quite ill when he left for the evening, but Master Snape seemed thoroughly satisfied with his progress."

"I see, I see. Yes, I recall Harry had a most difficult time learning Occlumency with Professor Snape. It is somewhat disconcerting feeling someone else's presence in your mind, let alone have them shifting through your memories like so much sand."

"It sounds absolutely frightful! Give me potions and chemistry any day, that's what I say." The mere idea caused Ignotus to bristle. Albus chuckled at the visibly disturbed painted man. Before they could further the conversation, the fireplace flamed green heralding Professor Snape's arrival.

As it was later in the evening, Severus was dressed informally, wearing only his black trousers and white shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. Although Albus had seen him dressed as such many times before, somehow it always took him by surprise that there was something hidden away under the severity of his obsidian robes. Stepping aside, Severus allowed Draco to pass into the office as well. He, too, was dressed informally in nearly the same outfit. Albus's heart warmed at the thought that perhaps Draco Malfoy had found the father he had always needed.

"Good evening, good evening! Master Suponificus alerted me to your visit just as you requested, Severus. Shall we sit down?" He jovially smiled at Draco while he magically turned the chairs toward the desk at an angle, making their visit seem less official. He sat in his chair and without fail picked up the candy dish to offer Draco a sweet. "Sherbet lemon?" The young man hesitated a moment before plucking one of the hard candies from the glass vessel. Severus declined the offer, and he returned the bowl to its home on his desk. He surreptitiously watched as Draco popped the sweet into his mouth, which twisted at the unexpected explosion of tartness on his taste buds. He swallowed once, twice, and then regained his composure. "Delightful, aren't they? They're a popular muggle candy, you know. Wait until you get to the center!"

"Yes, yes, candy is fun. Can we get on with it?" Severus crossed his arms firmly over his chest; his posture tense.

"Of course. Mr. Malfoy, welcome to the Light. Naturally, Severus briefed me about the change of your situation and his intentions in terms of your oaths this afternoon. I assumed all went well this evening as no news is good news."

"Thank you, sir. I, um, am glad to be able to do my part." Somehow he didn't quite know what to say. Somehow, "well, I've always hated you and your ideas about blood mixing, but then Hermione Granger fucked me in the Prefect's Bathroom, and what can I say? I'm a convert," didn't seem appropriate.

"I expect it will take you a little while to sort out your inner struggle about seeing many people in this new Light." He chuckled merrily at his own joke and continued. "Myself included. Just remember that you can come to any member of the Light once they've been briefed about your involvement. Although, I expect that Severus will be the most appropriate contact as he is both your Head of House and a fellow Deatheater." Draco's eyebrows shot to the top of his head at Albus's casual use of the D word. It didn't escape the Headmaster's notice. His voice took a grave tone, dropping the mask of cordiality. "Mr. Malfoy, in my office it is a common rule to 'call a spade a spade' as they say in the muggle world, and that means calling things by their proper names, even when those names cause us fear, discomfort, or pain. The mark on your arm, as well as Severus's, brands you a Deatheater. It is so, and so we shall call it, just as we call He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named by his name, Voldemort, or perhaps even more plainly, Tom Riddle.

"Now, you have come here tonight with much on your minds. What is it you wish to tell me?" Draco looked to his godfather for reassurance. Severus dropped his arms and turned in his seat toward him.

"Repeat to the Headmaster what you told me only a few minutes ago." So Draco did, beginning his first official debriefing with Albus Dumbledore, Leader of the Light. He recounted his impromptu meeting with the other members of the Slytherin elite, and Blaise's covert extension of friendship. Making sure to leave no details out, he mentally walked through the moments sentence by sentence. He hadn't realized it, but he retold much of his story with his eyes closed. When he opened them and focused on Albus, the old wizard was smiling.

"This is wonderful! You're a natural. And, I'm sure you'll be pleased to know that I did indeed see Miss Granger and Mr. Potter just after the incident your housemates described, and things are definitely on the mend there. Her outburst seems to have been just the thing he needed. I suspect both Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley will speak a little more kindly to her, now with a new appreciation of her friendship and abilities. Particularly in the Arithmancy department, eh?" In the candlelight, Albus's eyes twinkled. His attention rapt, Draco couldn't look away, and he couldn't decide if the old man really was a doddering old fool, or if he was omnipotent.

Breaking eye contact, Albus extended his arms (and legs) in an exaggerated yawn, letting a deep, baritone note escape from his throat. "Well, it seems that it is past my bedtime. I don't mean to kick you out, but I mean to kick you out. Thank you so much for coming to tell me your tale personally. You were quite right in going to Severus immediately afterward, and from now on whenever possible, that should be your course of action. You never know how any small thing may be of help to the Light." By now he was guiding his guests to the fireplace and had the floo powder in hand. "Professor Snape's Quarters!" he shouted, and Severus immediately stepped through which left Draco alone with Albus for a moment. The flames receded, and the fireplace went dark.

"Mr. Malfoy there was one more thing. I told this to the Head Girl earlier in hopes that she would pass along my message, but as you're here I see no reason not to tell you myself. The short of it is – Head Boy's Room – I have connected the floos between your rooms so that your duties are much more manageable. I hope it will be _beneficial_ to the two of you." At that moment, Draco felt himself being pushed toward the green flames, and twisting his head round to look over his shoulder saw Albus grinning from ear to ear.

***SS***

When Hermione returned to her rooms, the first thing she did was drop her pack by the door and drop down on the sofa. It had been a full day. Closing her eyes to more fully take in the peace and quiet of her lounge, she sighed in small relief. And then her stomach rumbled. She had forgotten that she hadn't actually had a chance to eat while she was in the Great Hall. She forced herself to get up from the sofa and walk to the fireplace.

After placing an order with the kitchens, by far her favorite perk of being Head Girl, she went into her bedroom to find something much more comfortable to put on. She found her discarded yoga trousers on the floor by her armoire and quickly dug through the other clothes inside it for a sweatshirt. When she returned to the living room, Hermione found a steaming bowl of tomato soup and several lots of cheese on toast under a serving dome. Biting into the first bit of cheesy toasty goodness warmed her from the inside out, and she felt another bit of the day's stress lift from her shoulders.

Just as she polished off her second slice, an insistent knocking came through her door. Wondering who would need the Head Girl at that hour, she picked up her wand and opened the door. Standing on the other side stood an exasperated Ginny Weasley. "You really know how to put on a show!" She quickly slipped past Hermione and made a B-line for the remaining slices of cheese on toast. Dunking a corner into the last of the tomato soup, the bread sopped up the steaming liquid, and she bit off nearly half of the slice in an attempt to eat all of the tomato infused bread in one go. Ginny polished off her knicked snack and ran the back of her hand across her mouth to collect any crumbs.

"Now that you've eaten part of my dinner, would you kindly tell me what is going on?"

"Oh how quickly we forget." A sneaky smile spread across her lips as Ginny lifted the hem of her shirt to reveal a bit of yellowed parchment tucked into her jeans. The map!

"Ginny, you genius. I had completely forgotten about it."

"No kidding. But it turned out that your little show in the Great Hall was exactly the incentive Harry needed to get his arse in gear. Seriously, when he came back to the common room, he had Ron gather everyone and then he made a little speech about how he hasn't been a very good friend or housemate and how he knows people are counting on him to set an example and be a strong leader. It would have been very touching if it hadn't come off a bit pompous. Next you'll be knocking him down a peg or two for being a hero." The ginger haired witch flopped onto the settee and curled her legs underneath her body, holding the map out to Hermione. "The good news is that it didn't take much convincing to get him to loan me the map."

She took the map from Ginny's hands and unfolded the parchment. It covered nearly the whole surface of her desk, and that didn't count the multiple folds that couldn't be stretched open beyond the center of the paper. Hermione's fingers caressed the aging parchment, feeling the worn textures along the folds and the magic imbued in the sheets. It really was a unique and wonderful magical artifact. How four teenaged wizards could have created such a powerful object was a mystery to her. She made a mental note to ask Remus about it someday.

With her wand still in hand, Hermione took a deep, cleansing breath and softly uttered, "_revelio incantatum_." It was a simple spell mainly used for quick and dirty diagnostics. She hoped it would be enough to help her make a basic copy. In much the same way her arithmantic runes rose from the parchment to organize themselves and form the chart, the essential spell configurations rose in brightly glowing words. Now the difficult part began as she began to circle her wand in complex patterns, directly the words across the room to a waiting piece of bare parchment.

Ginny, who hadn't been present at the potions class on Friday, was awestruck by the sight of Hermione directing the magic like she was directing an orchestra. Her performance lasted only a moment longer, and Ginny felt a bit saddened that it was over. She had felt so relaxed and peaceful watching Hermione. Taking another cleansing breath, Hermione moved away from the Marauder's Map over to the parchment she had set up. No longer blank, it was filled with words. After a quick scan, she was delighted to discover that part of the magic was contained in basic plotting spells. It was a sneaky bit of magic to say the least.

It appeared that not only had Hogwarts been extensively mapped, but major entrances and exits for the castle were "marked" with shielded plotting spells. The front gates, boat house, and Headmaster's floo all had tracking spells attached to them. Anyone entering the castle through those places would automatically be registered by the map. Hermione also noted that the map maintained a kind of "memory." Once plotted, people's signatures were recognized immediately. Since the map's creation, potentially thousands of people had come to Hogwarts, and nearly all of them had been tagged by the map. It truly was a marvelous work of magic.

Turning to Ginny, she explained what she had learned from her cursory examination of the map's spells. Ginny was suitably impressed. "Ok great. But what do you need it to do for you?" Hermione took to pacing in front of the fireplace.

"I need the map to not show Draco and I together when we're in private rooms alone. So if he comes here, or if I go the dungeons, I need us to be plotted in different places." She stopped, recalling Professor Dumbledore's change to their floo privileges. Bother! Then again, so far as she knew, only she, Dumbledore, and Draco would know about that. But, McGonagall was already suspicious that _something_ was going on between them that surpassed their school duties. Still, McGonagall didn't have the map. "This is getting complicated. I mean, it makes sense that we would be together alone sometimes because we are Head Boy and Head Girl; we're supposed to work together. But we can't be seen spending hours at a time together alone, let alone whole nights or days."

"You got it bad, girl." Ginny cracked a knowing smile.

"Excuse me?" Hermione whirled around to face her friend.

"Oh please, if it was anymore obvious, it would be flashing above your head." She gave her friend a pointed look and laid it out in plain words. "You've fallen for Draco Malfoy." Ginny nestled back into the settee's cushions and cocked an eyebrow, daring Hermione to defy her.

"Listen, I told you earlier today that there is something growing between us; I'm not denying that. But, that doesn't change the fact that if any Gryffindors take a look at the map while we're spending a night together, there will be hell to pay. For both of us."

"Point taken." Ginny stood and joined Hermione in pacing throughout the lounge. "So what we need is a way to make you or him invisible to the map. We know that polyjuice doesn't work and neither does the invisibility cloak."

"Neither does being an animagus. We know that there are a few places on the map that are either unplottable or were just not taken into account like the Room of Requirement and the Shrieking Shack." A minute more and something began to prick at the edges of Hermione's mind.

"We need to be unplottable. But not everywhere, just in, say, our private quarters. Wait a minute!" Her mind raced. All she needed to do was momentarily turn off the tracking spell when they entered their private quarters together. And then she would need to create a false signal from another part of the castle. It was too simple. With a quick bit of magic she located the correct charms from the original map that followed her and Draco. Then, all she needed was to add the correct charms for their individual spaces. Her own room she could modify immediately, but she wouldn't be able to modify Draco's room until she was actually standing in it. All she needed now was to have him in the room to activate the new charm sequence.

"I think I've managed it. Just a few little tweaks and you can take the map back to Harry. I won't even need to make a copy." She felt well chuffed.

"I only about half followed you while you were mumbling and waving your arms about. I figured you would manage it." Ginny returned to her spot on the couch, thoroughly exhausted from watching Hermione work. A tremendous noise jarred her from her thoughts, and the fireplace flamed. Draco Malfoy stepped through and walked straight for Hermione, taking her in his arms and planting a firm kiss on her mouth. "I heard about your showdown in the Great Hall. Are you alright?" His voice was worried, and his eyes were beseeching.

"I'm perfectly fine. I'm certainly much better than poor Harry." That was all he needed to hear. Draco set about vigorously kissing her to share both his gratitude that she was ok and that she had put Potter in his place. A few seconds later the sounds of cheering and clapping filled the room. Quickly breaking the kiss, he looked around to find Ginny Weasley standing in front of the sofa giving the couple a standing ovation. Without a moment's hesitation, Draco pushed Hermione behind him and drew his wand. Ginny only laughed, and Hermione slunk from behind him and put her hand over his, guiding his wand back to his side.

"It's ok. Ginny knows everything." He didn't know what to say. She soothed him with her words. "I had to tell someone; you had Professor Snape to take into confidence. Ginny was the logical choice." He believed her, but his Slytherin-ness prevailed, and he eyed the younger witch with caution. "If it makes you feel better, I made her take an oath." When the words finally made sense in his mind, Draco relaxed his posture and cracked a small smile.

"I'm sorry, Miss Weasley. Can't be too careful."

"No, no quite right, Malfoy. Anyway no harm, no foul. And I'm sorry to ruin the moment, but Hermione I've got to get back to the common room and to Harry." Her eyes scanned the Marauder's Map, and once again Hermione was all business.

"Draco, stand still for a moment, if you please." He easily complied with her request. She raised her wand and clearly spoke, "_nullam perdere_!" He felt magic shimmer across his body. Ginny inspected the map on her desk, locating the Head Girl's Room. There were two bobbing spots on the map: her own and Hermione Granger's.

"You did it!" she shouted joyfully. "Well done you. Now, I'll just leave you two love birds alone and make my way back to the common room." Hermione broke away from Draco to escort her friend out.

"Thank you so very much, Gin. Hopefully, we can get this all sorted soon."

"Hey, keep it to yourselves for a while. There's nothing like a little sneaking to add a little fun to something new. Night night." And with that, Ginny was out the door, and Draco and Hermione were alone.


	21. Chapter 21

"So," Hermione entwined her fingers with Draco's and stepped back from his embrace. "You spoke with Professor Dumbledore then."

"Yeah, I guess you could say I had my first official meeting with him." Moving toward the settee, they settled in the middle of it, curling around each other.

"That's always an experience. Did he offer you a sherbet lemon?" She was grinning at him, setting him at ease.

"Does he always do that? More than anything, I took one out of politeness. It didn't feel right to say, 'no' when it was the first time I had said more than four words to the man."

"It's sort of one of his things. Even when you're there for a particularly heinous meeting, he always tries to break the tension by offering everyone a piece of candy. I think it's a small gesture that reminds us that even in the darkest of times, we can allow ourselves small pleasures." The grin on her face receded and turned wry. "Look out for the licorice snaps though. They bite." With a short laugh, he hugged her closer, enjoying her warmth and the quiet of her room. Hermione broke the silence a minute later with a careful question. "So what was it you were speaking about with Professor Dumbledore?"

This was new territory for them, and she could see he was debating whether or not to tell her. Keeping her voice soft and reassuring, she said, "hey it's ok. If you think that telling me will put me or you in a dangerous spot, then I understand if you don't want to tell me. There will be a lot of times when we'll both be on a need to know basis." She took a cleansing breath. It was still so strange looking at him and hearing her voice tell him things that just days ago she would've revealed only under _veritas_ serum. Still, she had made the leap and there was no going back. "But, I want you to remember that I'm always here to listen and help if I can. Your circle of allies will be pretty small for a while, and we all need people we can confide in."

Instead of answering her, Draco pulled her closer, if that was possible, and kissed her. Few people had ever spoken such genuine words to him. And to think, his ignorance and unfounded hatred almost prevented him from being with her. Pulling back from the kiss, he looked into her eyes, trying to convey beyond the impending words just what he felt. "Hermione, you don't know what that means to me. Outside of Severus and my grandmother, I've never had a lot of people I could confide in. Hearing you say that, and knowing that you mean it with no pretense or agenda, is incredible to me. Thank you."

"Anytime." She smiled warmly, but it was interrupted by a long, wide yawn. Before she could close her mouth, he followed suit; his mouth gaping open as the air rushed past his vocal chords. "I don't know about you, but I'm all in. Would you mind if we just went to bed?"

"Not at all. I was wondering how long I would be able to keep myself awake now that I'm sure everything's ok."

"Brilliant," and she disentangled herself from his arms and rose from the couch, walking straight for the bedroom. Draco remained rooted to his seat, suddenly confused as to what to do. She hadn't explicitly invited him to stay the night. Should he return to the floo and stay in his own bed? Should he check… "Are you coming, or what?" Hermione shouted from somewhere inside the bedroom. Heaving a soft sigh of relief, he scrambled from the sofa and went to join her.

When he entered the room, she was viciously beating a pillow. She caught sight of him, and he raised a questioning eyebrow. "I like to plump the pillows without magic. They never turn out right when I use a spell or charm." The pillow found its place at the head of the bed, and she turned to walk toward the bathroom. "I think I have an extra toothbrush in the cupboard." This time he followed her without questioning the protocol for the situation. He found her just reaching into her small potions cabinet and retrieving a strange looking object. Some kind of stick with, was that hair, stuck in it. "Here you go." She smiled as she proffered the brightly colored thing.

"What is it?" Her face went from happy to confused to understanding in less than a second.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think. You probably use a cleansing charm on your teeth; is that right?" He nodded, still ogling the thing in her hand. "This is a toothbrush. Since muggles don't have cleansing charms, they must manually clean their teeth. This simple device, essentially a stick with bristles at one end, is used for the task. Watch." Hermione walked over to her sink and _accio_ed something from the potions cabinet, which flew into her hand. She squeezed the clearly muggle-made tube and a bluegreen unguent oozed from the tip onto the bristles. "This is toothpaste. Think of it as a kind of medicine that helps get the grime off of teeth and protects them from disease." She proceeded to put the toothbrush into her mouth and slowly manipulated it around her teeth. Occasionally, she spat into the basin to clear the foam that frothed from her lips. A few minutes later, she rinsed the brush, cupped a handful of water into her mouth, and swished it back and forth between her cheeks. The last mouthful went down the drain and she turned to Draco with a huge smile. "Nice and clean!" She stalked toward him, quickly pulling him close to her body. "And minty." Her lips were on his in a fraction of a second, and he could taste peppermint.

As her tongue probed past his lips, he could feel the flavor seep into the crevices of his mouth. Carefully, he closed his mouth around hers and sucked her tongue, spreading the mintiness even further. She giggled and pulled away, their lips separating with a pop from the suction. "Wanna give it a try?" Without hesitation, Draco responded, "yes," and automatically followed her to the bathroom. She had already retrieved a second brush and extended it to him. Now he hesitated.

Sensing his discomfort, she held her posture but smiled brightly. "Hey, it's okay if you're not up for it. I just thought you might like to try it for the novelty."

"It's not that I don't want to, it's just…" He couldn't make the words assemble properly. They would sound, well, mean. He huffed in frustration. Hermione put the toothbrush down on the lip of the sink and extended her hand to his. "Okay, this is going to sound awful, but it seems gross and unsanitary to stick something like that in my mouth." She couldn't help herself; a melodious laugh filled the air. He made to pull away from her, but she tightened her hold and placed her other hand on his chest.

"You're absolutely right. It is gross when I think about it. But, muggles had to learn alternative ways of doing things. Without cleaning our teeth, we become susceptible to gingivitis, plaque, tartar, halitosis, cavities, abscesses, and all kinds of other dental problems. Necessity is the mother of invention, and because muggles couldn't invent a cleansing charm, they invented toothbrushes and toothpaste."

"Do all muggles know so much about this?" Surprisingly, her face brightened.

"No, I'd imagine not. You see my mum and dad are dentists. They're muggle doctors who specialize in cleaning and fixing people's teeth. I learned a lot about basic dental hygiene very early in life."

"And it doesn't hurt?"

"Washing your teeth with a brush is nearly the same as washing your body with a flannel or sponge. If you scrub too hard it can hurt, but generally it's painless." He eyed the toothbrush suspiciously, but not wanting to look like a Hufflepuff, he talked himself into it.

"Walk me through it?" Draco asked as he squeezed her hand.

"Absolutely," and she led him to the basin, dropping his hand and picking up the toothbrush. "Hold it like this." His fist held the handle in a death grip. It wasn't made with wood and he had a hard time figuring out what it was. Turning the bright blue and white striped thing back and forth, he was puzzled.

"What's it made with? It's not lacquered wood is it?"

"No. It's actually a muggle made product called plastic. It's lighter and stronger than wood in most cases. A lot of stuff in the muggle world is made with plastic either completely or as a component. Look at the bristles." He did so, running his thumb across the top and side of the flexible rectangle. "Those are also made with plastic. It's just a different manufacturing process that creates the difference."

"Interesting. What's next?"

"Well, you can wet the bristles and then put some toothpaste on the brush part." Carefully, he held the tip of the toothbrush under the tap. Twisting the spigot with his left hand, water gushed into the basin, passing through and over the brush. He stopped the water and reached for the strange tube. The package was vibrantly colored with red, blue, and white lettering that declared "Cavity Protection!" and "Great Regular Flavor." "What does it mean, 'regular flavor'?"

"Some kind of minty flavor is usually considered regular. A few companies make flavors like cinnamon or orange, and those are pretty common, too. Kids normally aren't crazy about washing their teeth, so they make flavors like strawberry or watermelon for them. And, there are even some novelty toothpastes that taste like bacon or cupcake."

"Ew, why would you want to clean your mouth with bacon?" He couldn't help it; he reflexively stuck out his tongue and crinkled his nose.

"You wouldn't, but that's why it's a novelty. Haven't you ever tried something just to see what it was like? I mean, isn't that the point of every flavor beans? You never know what you'll pick up, and if it's something awful like dirt or earwax, you spit it out and try again."

"Makes sense I guess. I'm not sure I would be willing to try bacon flavor though."

"Neither would I, Love." He wondered if he had heard her properly. Cocking his head, he began to stare at Hermione's mouth. His brain rewound and played the words back several times. Her agreement wasn't what had him confused. It was her blatant term of endearment. While they had shared some relatively intense moments discussing this new development between them, the "L" word hadn't been brought up. Mentally, Draco scolded himself. It wasn't as though she had said _the_ phrase; she had merely called him "Love." Love…

Hermione could feel her face growing hot as Draco stared at her. She mentally berated herself. "Stupid, stupid girl. You have got to watch your mouth!" She felt as though she had grown a second head under his scrutiny. Her mind raced frantically, trying to figure out how to smooth her slip over without being too obvious. Fortunately, an opportunity presented itself, and she went with it. "You're about to run toothpaste all over your trousers."

While Draco had been staring at her, his right arm had relaxed and the hand holding the toothbrush swayed dangerously close to his thigh. She noticed that it took a second for the words to register, but when they did, he jerked his hand back to its former position. "So, onward?" By then, he had recomposed himself.

"Now I just put it in my mouth and run the brush over my teeth."

"That's the general idea. Try not to swallow too much of the toothpaste or foam. Spit it into the sink instead. And just make sure you brush the front, back, and top of your teeth. Like this." And Hermione began to imitate the brushing procedure with an invisible toothbrush.

With a last trepidatious glance at the object in his hand, she watched as Draco Malfoy put a muggle toothbrush into his mouth. Simultaneously, she felt herself cheer for him and snicker. It was incredible that he would be willing to do something _so _muggle in front of her, let alone for the first time. It showed so much trust. But, she could also feel that niggling part of her that relished in the power she held over him. Angry with herself, she beat away the latter, and let herself fill with the joy of the moment. With a mouth full of foam, he questioned, "Mi-doin-fis-rhy?"

"You're a natural! One more minute and you're all finished." She continued to watch as he worked the toothbrush in an exaggerated manner. It was cute, like watching a child just learning how to brush for themselves. Just as the observation floated through her mind, a glob of greenyblue foam fell from the brush and splodged his shirt. "Argggh!" He pulled the brush from his mouth and looked down helplessly.

"Happens to the best of us. I don't know how many mornings I've been nearly ready to head out the door, only to discover a toothpaste stain on my blouse or robes. The good news is a little _scourgify_ will clear that right up. In the muggle world, you've got to give the shirt up for the wash and put something new on. It doesn't stain, but it's bugger hard to get out with just water." With a nod, he rinsed the toothbrush clean (as well as most of his right hand which had captured a good deal of foam, too) and proceeded to rinse his mouth in the same way she had.

He angled his body over the sink so he could get closer to the sink and examine his teeth in the mirror. "I don't know if they _are_ cleaner, but they _feel_ cleaner. Maybe it's the mint."

"I definitely think that helps. Um, I need the loo. Do you mind?"

"Not at all. I'll meet you in bed." And he turned and left the bathroom, closing the door completely behind him. As soon as she heard the lock click, she dashed for the toilette. While she weed with no problem, she discovered that she couldn't poo. She felt tense. Somehow knowing he was on the other side of the door was enough for her to not relax. In the girls's dormitory, it had never been a problem. They were all girls; they all had to poo at some point, and no one made a big deal concerning any unsavory sounds or smells that were resultant. She knew she was being silly, that he also pooed as a part of being a person. Waste excretion was basic physiology. Still, she worried what he would say if he caught a whiff of something smelly. Girls weren't supposed to make gross smells.

In the end, she couldn't go. Deciding that it would need to wait for privacy, she finished the rest of her night routine, cleansing her face and braiding her hair, before heading back to the bedroom. When she opened the door, she found Draco standing at the foot of the bed locked in a staring contest with her large, matted half-kneazle. "The damn thing won't let me onto the bed." While she understood Draco's hesitance to challenge Crookshanks's dominance over the bed, it was funny to think that a cat could prevent anyone from going to bed.

"Crooks! Naughty thing. Get off this bed right this instance!" The cat turned its squashed face toward Hermione in acknowledgment that he was being addressed. The thing about being half-kneazle was that Crooks was more intelligent than the average house cat. He could be spoken to, almost reasoned with, and Hermione did so now to gain the upper hand. "If you don't get off of that bed, I'll make sure I let the house elves know that you only receive kitty kibble from now on. No fish, no chicken, no meat. Period."

Crookshanks seemed to mull over Hermione's threat in his mind. And, after a minute or two, decided that his continued reign over the bed wasn't worth losing raw protein. He leisurely lifted his haunches and stretched, digging his claws into the duvet in protest. Returning his stare to Draco, he sniffed and circled showing his bottom for a moment before leaping off of the bed. "That's right!" she called. "And no attacking us in our sleep, otherwise you're in for it. I'm not above hexing you." The last was an empty threat, but sometimes she needed to pull out the big wand to get him to fall in line. "Problem solved."

The couple continued looking at the now empty bed. The last time the ended up there, they had started in passionate embraces and there wasn't time to be embarrassed or insecure. Now there seemed to be plenty of time. Once again, it seemed to come down to etiquette. What was the procedure? Taking control of the moment, she asked, "do you want the left or right side?"

Lifting his right arm so he could scratch the back of his head, he responded, "well, I don't know. I mean I've never really shared a bed with someone before." They looked at the bed a few seconds more. "I ended up over on the right side this morning, and I slept ok until your bloody cat attacked me. Guess that's as good a place as any to start."

"Perfectly logical. I love that." And she walked around to the foot of the bed. When she stood behind him, she wrapped her arms around his torso and laid her cheek against his back. Suddenly remembering the thick scars that lived there, she whispered to him. "I'm really proud of you for cleaning your teeth the muggle way tonight. Not that I'm anticipating or wanting you to quote unquote go muggle, but I know that was big step. I expect that there will be a lot of moments like that for both of us along the way. There will always be things you do magically that I do, erm, muggley because that's how we were brought up to do them. I look forward to learning those things with you." She hoped it didn't sound patronizing.

Twining his arms with hers, she felt him squeeze her elbows with his hands. "Me, too." And nothing more needed to be said. Draco released her and twisted in her arms, repositioned so that she was hugging him. Kissing her forehead first, he then relaxed his own against hers and stared into her eyes, which were from that perspective strangely close and bug-like on her face. "I don't know about you, but I feel like I could sleep for a hundred years."

"That sounds about right." Reluctant to let go of each other, eventually they separated and went to their respective bedsides. Draco pulled his wand from the pocket of his trousers, saying "_knox_" and the room fell into darkness. Both wordlessly stripped of their clothes and crawled under the duvet. Immediately they reached for each other. And while Hermione could feel the pleasant burning/tingling of his skin against hers, she was too tired to enact anything further. They settled together, spooning much like they had in the morning, enjoying the sensations of being close. The last thought that flitted through Hermione's mind was that she would never taste mint the same way ever again.


	22. Chapter 22

_A/N Thanks again to all of the readers who are still patiently following this journey. It always lives with me in the back of my mind, but isn't always the first priority on my list. I appreciate the support you've given me._

_As per usual, everything belongs to JKR._

It began as a low smolder, slowly building in his blood. Curling closer to Hermione, he felt exquisite pleasure beginning to race through his body. And then it wasn't only pleasure but pricks of pain as well. Its intensity built, the two sensations twisting and feeding on each other so that he didn't know quite what was happening. Half asleep, Draco pulled himself closer to his bedmate to try to quench the fire that was beginning to burn inside of him. And then it happened…

Hermione turned in the circle of his arms, her elbow grazing his forearm. All sensations of pleasure vanished, replaced by the most intense pain. So much pain that he could barely think through it. Eyes popping open in the dark, scrambling backward in the bed, he tried to escape it. And then he was falling. The bedroom floor was cold and the shock of the temperature change instantly cleared his mind. Hermione commanded "Watch your eyes!" and light filled the room. He was coiled on himself, clutching his left arm gingerly to his chest. "I'm being summoned." There was nothing else to say.

Draco had only been summoned twice before during the summer. The last time, the Dark Lord gave him instructions about how to behave and the kind of information he was expected to gather. Somehow the feeling was different. He remembered that there was intense pain, but it lasted momentarily as the low level burn localized to the dark mark. When he _apparated_ to the Dark Lord's coordinates, the pain dispersed.

While the feeling subsided, it was still a heady mixture of pleasure and pain coursing through his body. This was different. But there was no time to dwell. If he was being summoned in the middle of the night from Hogwarts, then it was likely that Severus was also being summoned. Without bothering to reach for his discarded clothes, he rose from the floor and turned toward the bedroom door, walking briskly for the fireplace. Hermione was right behind him. He couldn't go straight to Severus's chambers; first, he would need to collect his robe and mask. Mechanically reaching for the floo powder on the mantle, he tossed it into the grate and shouted "Head Boy's Room." The hearth flared green, and he disappeared without a backward glance.

**SS**

She knew he had to mentally prepare himself to face Voldemort. He couldn't risk a heartfelt goodbye or a plea for his safety. And so Draco went through the fireplace to ready himself as a Death Eater. Turning, Hermione returned to her bedroom to retrieve her clothes and a robe. There would be no more sleep for her that night. Grabbing her wand, she made her own journey through the floo to the Headmaster's office. Fawkes was dozing on his perch in the ante-room, a place he regularly roosted in the event that the Headmaster would need to be wakened after hours. "Fawkes!" The bird roused his head from under his wing and blinked at an anxious Hermione Granger. "I need you to wake Professor Dumbledore. Draco Malfoy has been summoned by Voldemort." Clearly understanding her missive, Fawkes stretched his wings a time or two before gracefully leaping from his perch in order to sail through an open window in the room. With nothing more to do, she began to pace in front of the cold fireplace. She stopped for just a moment to conjure a rolling fire to add light and warmth to the room and then immediately resumed her silent vigil.

It was just a few minutes until Professor Dumbledore entered the room and beckoned her to enter the inner office. As was his custom, he proffered one of the comfortable chairs before his desk, which she accepted. Before sitting in his own chair, Dumbledore magically sent the candy dish sailing in her direction, stopping to hover just in front of her. This was something new, she observed. Typically, he passed the dish by hand and not by magic. Feeling compelled by the change in routine, she took a Humbug from the dish, and it effortlessly returned to its place.

"Now, tell me everything, Miss Granger." His hands knitted together at the edge of the desk; his expression guarded but grave at the same time.

There was no time for her to be embarrassed about the fact that she and Draco had, only thirty minutes before, been spooned against each other naked in her bed. "We were asleep, Sir. And Draco started to whimper in his sleep. I wasn't aware enough to think about it, but he clutched me a little closer and seemed to calm for a moment. Then he let out a painful moan. I'm not sure he knew he did it. When I tried to turn to face him to wake him from what I thought was a nightmare, he pushed back against me like a trapped animal. He fell out of bed, and it was like a bucket of cold water had doused him. When I brought on the lights, he said, 'I'm being summoned,' and that was it. He got up and directed the floo to take him to the Head Boy's Room. I dressed and immediately came here."

"You did the right thing, Miss Granger. Typically Professor Snape contacts me when he is being summoned. First, we must discover if they've both been called, or if this was specifically for Mr. Malfoy." Drawing his wand from a concealed pocket in his robes, Dumbledore did a complex silent spell. His eyes closed and his head drifted down toward his chest as though he had fallen asleep. A moment later he sat back up, returning his wand to its hiding place. "According to the castle wards, both Professor Snape and Mr. Malfoy are not on the grounds at this time. We can safely assume that where ever they are, they are together. Take some comfort in that, my dear.

Now, I imagine I wasn't notified because this is in some ways highly irregular. Of course it's the first time that Professor Snape has needed to ferry Mr. Malfoy from the castle to his apparition point in the Forbidden Forest. It's also unusual that they would be summoned early on a Sunday morning. Voldemort understands that his followers must remain covert publicly speaking. While his punishments for disobedience and delight can be merciless, he knows that public figures must return to their lives appearing unharmed." He stopped to muse for a moment.

Over the years, there were rumors that circulated through the students about Professor Snape's frequent trips to the infirmary. Some speculated that he was really vampire and needed regular blood replenishment to survive. Others thought he was collecting rare potions ingredients that were dangerous to retrieve. There were some students who thought he was involved in some kind of underground dueling ring. And then there were those who assumed the worst, that he was a Death Eater and needed to stay in the infirmary after long nights raiding muggle villages and overexertion at the much speculated upon revels.

"Sir," Hermione's voice broke his concentration. "Hadn't we better notify Madame Pomfrey about Draco's transition to the Light? He may need treatment when they return."

"An excellent thought, Miss Granger. While I always hope for Professor Snape to return unscathed from meetings, sometimes my hope is not enough. And, sometimes it is difficult to predict when hope will win out." Standing from his desk, she watched as Professor Dumbledore twisted his back a bit before moving toward the fireplace. It was easy to forget that he was well over a hundred years old, but in this moment, it was abundantly clear as he slowly crouched to place his face in the green flames. It struck Hermione as daft that no one had come up with a better solution for floo to floo calls. It warranted more thought, but she couldn't divert enough of her mind to the conundrum at the minute.

She could hear Madame Pomfrey's voice come through the floo and soon enough, Madame Pomfrey herself had entered the office to be briefed. She was in her night robes and her hair was tucked under a kerchief in what looked like muggle rollers. Making a mental note about her observation, Hermione greeted the mediwitch. "Good evening, Madame Pomfrey."

"Good evening, Miss Granger." Poppy Pomfrey took the seat next to Hermione's but declined the Humbugs that Professor Dumbledore held out to her. "Now, what's the trouble tonight?" As always, she was no nonsense and to the point.

"I'm afraid Severus has been summoned."

"Sadly that's nothing new; I'll prepare the usual, shall I?"

"Well, yes that would probably be helpful, but there is an added consideration." Madame Pomfrey, who had begun to rise from her seat, lowered her body and a look of curious confusion overcame her face. She looked pointedly at Hermione. "On Saturday, Draco Malfoy swore allegiance to the Light, complete with blood oath. As you may have suspected, Mr. Malfoy was given a dark mark during the summer, and so he too was summoned this evening. You may need to prepare for two casualties this evening."

"Dear gods." Of its own volition, her hand rose to cover her lips. Would the madness never end?

"Miss Granger is partly responsible for his change of allegiance and as such, she is his only ally outside of Severus and me. They were together when he was summoned."

"He could've left that last detail out," thought Hermione. So much for her private life. Although her eyes narrowed, Madame Pomfrey gave nothing else away at this revelation.

"I see. Then if you will excuse me, I'll make the necessary preparations should either of them need medical care." This time she did rise from her chair.

"Madame Pomfrey, I suspect that Miss Granger will get no more sleep tonight in waiting for her friend and professor to return. Perhaps she would be able to assist you in the infirmary?" Both Hermione and Madame Pomfrey knew this was not a request. He was dismissing them together.

"Very good, Professor Dumbledore. I'll put Miss Granger to work in the store room."

"Excellent, excellent!" the old man twinkled. "I'll let you know the moment the wards tell me that they've returned." He ushered them toward the fireplace, threw in the floo powder, and called, "Infirmary!" Madame Pomfrey went in straight away and disappeared.

Hermione turned to face Professor Dumbledore. When she decided to go to the Headmaster's office, she was thinking about her duty as an Order member, about letting someone know that Draco had gone, that there were things that needed to be done. Now, cold fear began to set in. It was suddenly more real than it had ever been before. His new role as a double agent was far more dangerous than being only a Death Eater. For her, there wasn't much to do but wait. "How had Dumbledore lived with that for all those years," she wondered. Just waiting for word that Professor Snape returned, that he would live, that there was word that might strengthen the Order or the Light's position.

Professor Dumbledore laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I know it's difficult. Go with Madame Pomfrey, keep yourself busy. I'll let you know when he comes home." She could only nod for fear her voice would crack and open a floodgate of tears. She turned into the green flames and reappeared in the infirmary.

**SS**

They walked briskly through the grounds, past the whomping willow, and toward a section of hedge the bordered the Forbidden Forest. Severus lifted his wand, whispering, "_revelio_." The hedge parted, and he stepped through with no hesitation. Draco found himself in a copse of trees. There was just a rug of grass lining the little glade. "This is where you will come anytime you must _apparate_ to the Dark Lord. This circle of trees is set up with protections from the rest of the forest. It is also still situated on Hogwarts's grounds so the wards sense activity here." Draco nodded in understanding.

"Now," Severus continued. "It is imperative that before you leave here that your occlumency shields are firmly in place. If you leave the minute you enter the clearing, you risk mental invasion from the Dark Lord the moment you land at his side. Just as we practiced you must sort through your recent memories. Shield the ones that he cannot see and selectively allow others near the surface that will potentially please him. Take them out of context for greater efficacy."

Draco closed his eyes and did as his godfather commanded. While he had only had one marathon session with Severus, he was a quick study. His occlumency shields weren't particularly strong, but he made a point of clustering innocuous memories closer to them while the precious ones were deeper down. "I'm ready." His eyes remained closed. All he could see was the Black Lake in his mind's eye. Peaceful, serene. The tell-tale tug of apparition pulled him from inside out, and they were gone.

When he opened his eyes, Draco internally sighed with relief. The sight that greeted him was indeed welcome. They were in front of the gates of Malfoy Manner. Although they couldn't verbalize it, he knew that Severus was silently telling him not to let his guard down. Sometimes it was worse to be in a place where one was comfortable. All sorts of things could slip through the mental cracks if one became too complacent. Draco steeled himself and walked up the path to the main entrance of the house. The door opened for them, sensing the presence of a Malfoy bloodline.

By now their hoods were raised and their masks were in position. And they silently moved through the foyer to the reception room where they would be given instructions. A lone Death Eater was stationed there. The long platinum hair peeking down the lapels of the robe immediately gave away who it was. Draco bowed low. "Father." Lucius Malfoy did not return the greeting. "Follow me to the grand ballroom."

Silently, Malfoy senior turned and the two men followed him to their destination. The room was crowded with Death Eaters dressed in robes and masks. Few people were clearly distinguishable save Peter Pettigrew, who was not allowed to don the traditional Death Eater garb, and Bellatrix LeStrange, who wore no mask. Everyone else blended together in a sea of black robes and skeletal faces. The Dark Lord sat in the far corner of the room in one of the large Edwardian wingback chairs, his familiar draped around his body like a slithering scarf. He leaned his noseless face toward Nagini's head, whispering to her in parseltongue. She slid down the length of his body and coiled around the legs of the chair, giving him room to stand and approach his followers.

"At lassst, we are complete for the evening. My friends, we have much to celebrate this evening." The room remained silent. They knew better than to interrupt, even with a positive cheer. "Firssst, we have taken the ministry. While we have been working toward this goal for sssometime, it is now a reality. Rufusss Scrimgeour is, at this moment, within my custody enjoying some of the fine accommodations here at Malfoy Manner. While he resssts here, I've seen fit to send my personal aids to the ministry to help with any confusion resultant of his absssence."

Bellatrix, who could hardly contain herself, began an agitated golf clap. "Thank you, Bella. As always, your enthusiasm for my achievements is delightful." He held up his hand toward her, and she immediately stopped clapping and took a step back. "Sssecond, I have heard encouraging news from Hogwarts. It ssseems that Potter has begun to alienate his own friendsss. Draco Malfoy, step forward." The tone in the Dark Lord's voice changed significantly from softly lilting to commanding when he called for Draco. Stepping through the crowd to the front of the group, he bowed low and waited for instructions. "You may stand and look at me." He did so, maintaining an air of deferment.

"I was told earlier this evening that several members received word from their children that they had witnessed what amounted to a fight between Potter and his mudblood. What do you know of this? Speak."

"My Lord, I did not witness the event in question, but was told about it after the fact by several prominent classmates. As I understand it, during the dinner hour, the mudblood insulted Potter's dead mother and he attempted to hex her as she was leaving the Great Hall. She returned fire, dropping Potter to his knees in front of everyone in the room." He bowed his head again signaling that he was finished speaking and was waiting for his next directions.

"I see, and did you not think to send this information to me directly? Speak."

"My Lord, I do not believe that I am of a position or rank to seek audience with you directly. Instead, I counseled them to write to their families and relay the story that way with the expectation that you would receive the information. I also briefed the other member living in the castle, who I understand meets with you regularly and could relay the same information in a timely manner."

"Ever the politician, young Malfoy. What is your interpretation of these events? Speak."

"My Lord, while such a public display is uncommon for Potter and those associated with him, it is by no means an unusual occurrence. There is often infighting amongst them, clearly visible in the hallways and classrooms we share. Potter becomes increasingly isolated."

"Well done, Draco. You have been most useful." And to his great surprise, the Dark Lord stepped closer to him and enfolded him in an awkward half hug. His fetid breath filled Draco's nose, and he stopped breathing to escape the stench of death that hung heavy around the Dark Lord. Pulling away from Draco, the Dark Lord's eyes pierced his own. "Am I not a merciful and giving Lord, Draco?"

Once again bowing his head but without breaking eye contact, he replied. "Indeed, My Lord. I am humble as your servant." Just before the last sentence slipped out, he could feel the pressure building in his brain. The tell-tale sign of legilimancy. He persisted in maintaining neutrality on his face, never indicating that he felt the Dark Lord begin shuffling through his memories. Images flashed behind his eyes. Basic images of his routine at Hogwarts floated through his mind along with images of younger students scurrying out of his way as he moved through the halls. There were memories of his insulting exchanges with the trio. He recalled the memories of Goyle, Pansy, Crabbe, and Blaise coming to his rooms and telling him about the duel. He switched gears and thought about playing chess with Severus and drinking fire whisky until the early hours of the morning. Repetitive memories were best.

He felt the weight of the Dark Lord's mind dissipate from his own. "Very well," and the Dark Lord turned away from him and beckoned to his familiar. Unraveling herself from the chair legs, she fluidly moved forward and lifted her upper body more than half of the Dark Lord's height. He cooed at her in parseltongue and petted her. A cold shiver went down Draco's spine, and he began to worry that he would soon become the snake's next meal. Like poor Professor Burbage. Swiftly banishing those thoughts, he forced his mind back to safer territory.

"My friendsss, the hour is upon us. Although ssstill at Hogwarts, Potter is isssolated and lonely. I feel his fear and his resissstance daily. We have taken the ministry, now we must take The Boy Who Lived!" He raised his arms in victory; this time the black clad gatherers responded with triumphant sounds. When he lowered his arms, the crowd went quiet and waited for further direction. "Gather the troopsss. Collect as many followers as you can. All will ssswear fealty to me and then, we will ssstrike." With a flourish of his grey robes, the Dark Lord turned and exited the ballroom through a side door with Nagini following closely behind.

The crowd cheered for a minute or two and then began to thin. There were sure to be reports of Death Eater attacks on muggles in the morning. Once again shoving the thought away, Draco turned to regroup with Severus and return to Hogwarts. His father intercepted him. "Well done, Draco. It seems the Dark Lord is pleased with you."

"I try to do my best, Father."

"Let us hope that you will do better than that. The Dark Lord wishes to see both you and Severus in my study."

"Yes, Father." Draco noticed his father wave to Severus, indicating that he should follow them. They exited through the same door the Dark Lord had used and went down a long corridor toward Lucius's study. The same study where he had ineptly spied on the Dark Lord and discovered first hand what terror looked and smelled like. Entering the room, it was clear that things had changed. He was seated behind his father's desk rather than in front of it. In fact, there were no chairs there and so everyone was made to stand before the Dark Lord as though he was holding court.

"Ah, here you are. Ssso Severusss, what do you think of my plan?" He watched as Severus inclined his head in greeting and stepped forward.

"My Lord, as ever you are inspiring when speaking to your followers, but I wouldn't deign to guess as to your plan." Draco was surprised when the Dark Lord laughed heartily.

"Severusss, that's why I keep you around. You're the only one who will tell me what'sss on your mind. It's ssso refreshing after being sssurounded by asss kissersss." His hiss became more prevalent as he became more jovial. "And you're absssolutely right. I haven't told you my plansss in the leassst!" It seemed strange to watch the disfigured mad man catch his breath from laughter. "I believe we are sssufficiently prepared to bring thisss tiressssome war to an end. We have the minissstry. All I need now is the boy." The Dark Lord stood and walked toward the fireplace. He began to pace. "In a few weeksss, we will reach the winter solstice. Thisss will be an ideal time for me to make my ssstand."

Stopping to survey they three men standing in the room, he appraised them each with a careful eye. "Of courssse, I have jobs for each of you. Luciusss, you will continue to place the right people in the minissstry. Position them anyway you can. Once I have killed Potter, I will immediately take my place as rightful minissster."

"Yes, My Lord," responded Lucius in the affirmative.

"Good, you may go." And he did, leaving Draco and Severus behind. "Draco, your job is to ensure that Potter becomesss further dejected and isssolated from his friendsss. Do what you mussst to drive a wedge between them. I want him as vulnerable as posssible."

"I understand, My Lord."

"You may go." Bowing low, Draco gratefully turned and left the room, leaving his godfather to his own devices. He found his father waiting outside. "I won't ask what task the Dark Lord gave you; it wasn't for me to hear. Still, I warn you, should you disappoint our Lord, you will answer to me first."

"I understand, Father. I will not fail." He paused a moment. "Is Mother well?"

"How should I know? I have more important things to attend to. She's likely sniveling somewhere in her wing." And with that, Lucius Malfoy walked away from his only son. Mercifully, he was joined by Severus a moment later. They remained alone.

"Severus, may I quickly check on my mother?" His eyes tried to communicate how important it was for him to know that she was alright.

"Timple?" Severus called out. A little elf popped into the foyer. When his eyes alighted on Draco, he quickly lay down on the carpeted floor and stretched out.

"I is here. I serve the house of Malfoy. How can I serve?" An ugly ache grew inside of Draco's heart. Timple was one of the elves he had tortured as a child, and he had taught the little creature to lie on the ground to denote he was lower than dirt compared to wizards. He was sick with the memories. He spoke in a clear, crisp voice. "Timple, apparate me to my mother's quarters." The little elf scrambled from his prone position and lightly touched Draco's robe. He landed with a pop in front of his mother's door. Timple resumed his place on the floor while Draco knocked at the door. There was no answer. A little whimper came from the floor. "What is it, Timple?"

"Mistress is g-g-gone, Sir." Alarm filled him immediately.

"Where has she gone, Timple?" The elf immediately covered his head with his boney arms, curling in on himself.

"She, she is away. I is promised not to tell anyone where." Timple waited for the blow he was sure to come. Draco pulled his wand from his pocket and very quietly cast _muffliato_. He crouched down to Timple and softly spoke.

"Timple, I am so sorry for the way I've treated you. I apologize for all of the pain and suffering I've caused you. It's not a good excuse, but I didn't know any better. But, I know now." Hardly believing what he was hearing, Timple peeked from under his arm into the face of his tormenter. "Timple, can you at the least tell me if my mother is safe?"

Chewing his lip for a moment, the elf made a mental decision and answered. "She is, Sir. Very safe." A sigh of relief floated through his chest.

"That is good news, Timple. Please stand up." The elf immediately obeyed and stood before his master. "Take my hand and return me to Professor Snape please." Grabbing Draco's hand they popped from the West Wing hallway to the foyer where Severus was waiting. Draco nodded to Severus and they sped from Malfoy Manner back toward the apparition point beyond the wrought iron gates.

Timple stayed by the front door for a long time contemplating what young Master Malfoy had said to him by the Mistress's door. Looking down in his knurled brown hand, the black knitted fabric seemed a small miracle, for he had been given a single glove.


	23. Chapter 23

_A/N Once again, tremendous thanks to the readers who continue to bolster my confidence in continuing this story. It's been a harrowing semester, but with luck, the summer will give me more time to flex my creative writing muscles and we can move this story along. I have some surprises in store… Thank you!_

_And, as always, everything belongs to JK Rowling._

Although Hermione had only been a minute behind Madame Pomfrey, when she stepped away from the fire's grate, she found the mediwitch busily bustling around the nearest infirmary bed. The bedside table had been doubled in size to provide more tabletop space. The standard wash basin was accompanied with a stack of new towels, and where the pitcher usually sat was a potions rack filled with darkly colored, hexagonal shaped glass jars. Fluffing the pillow and turning down the light comforter and sheet, Madame Pomfrey stepped back to assess her work. Apparently she found everything satisfactory as she made a contented squeak and turned to face Hermione.

"I don't want to know what is going on between you and Mr. Malfoy. And furthermore, I'll keep my assumptions to myself. What I can say is that you need to be prepared for the worst. I can't have you going to pieces if those two men come into this ward broken beyond recognition." Again, Madame Pomfrey's blunt honesty broke the tension, and Hermione felt herself push the fear and concern to the back of her mind so she could be productive.

"I'll do my best. Some shock would probably be appropriate in the first moments, but I'm confident I can side step it to aid you."

"Very well. Miss Granger, I realize Albus has his own reasons for sending you with me this evening, but I want to make something very clear to you. Over the years I have become very protective of Severus, and it's possible you may see him in a position that is not normally befitting of a teacher. If anything, and I mean anything, that you might see this evening gets into the castle rumor mill, I will not hesitate to _obliviate_ you." Madame Pomfrey's protective ferocity made Hermione take a physical step back. The persona that Professor Snape performed set him up as the man apart. After joining the Order, she observed that he was Dumbledore's right hand man, but still, it presented as a business relationship, not a friendship. Here, Madame Pomfrey defended his privacy and reputation as though he was her own child. Severus Snape, the man apart, had someone who loved him.

"You can trust me, Madame Pomfrey. I understand that Professor Snape has much at stake in this war and plays a crucial part for the Order. I would not betray him." Satisfied that Hermione was telling the truth, Madame Pomfrey turned back the infirmary bed and gave it another quick once over before moving to the bed next to it. She began the process of enlarging the bedside table and shifting items around.

"Miss Granger, go into the storeroom and fetch the other potions rack." The storeroom was cavernous. Although she had been it before, her memory never managed to capture exactly how large and jam-packed it was. The ceiling was easily 12 feet high with shelves from floor to ceiling extending down each wall as well as down the center of the room, creating aisles to walk down. She reasoned the Madame Pomfrey was likely to keep important potions and frequent use ones near the door. Two shelves in on the left-hand wall, Hermione spotted a rack that looked similar if not exactly alike to the one already in the main room. Carefully, she reached for the rack, slowly pulled it from the shelf that was just above her head, and guided it toward her chest where she hugged it closely.

Returning to the infirmary, she found Madame Pomfrey seated in a plush chair in between to the two prepared beds. Her head was bowed, and it appeared the she was dozing. Sitting the retrieved potions of the first bedside table, Hermione summoned a wooden chair that was nearby. She silently performed a quick cushioning charm and slumped into the chair. It only took a second for exhaustion to set in, and soon her posture mirrored Madame Pomfrey's. The two women dozed in their chairs, all the preparation done to receive patients that they fervently wished not to have.

**SS**

Just two hours later, the floo flared green, and Albus stepped through into the infirmary. He knew better than to call out to Poppy Pomfrey. Many nights he stepped through to find the mediwitch fast asleep at her desk, in a chair, and sometimes in one of the beds. Tonight that familiar scene was only slightly modified with the addition of Miss Granger. Instead of jarring the two women awake, he found it a little gentler, and certainly more fun, to let them wake themselves. Albus began to circle his index finger as it pointed toward the stone floor. A small tornado appeared, drawing in dust and a pinch of dirt from the cracks between the stones. With a swish-and-flick gesture any first year was sure to recognize, the tornado rose into the air and he directed the little dervish first toward Poppy. It hovered near her face and after a breath or two, the telltale signs of a sneeze began to form. The twitching of her nose, the ticking of her lips from side to side. The twisting dust cloud floated toward Hermione and shortly her features began to do the same arrhythmic dance. Albus directed the little funnel cloud away from Hermione and back to the floor, where it quickly dissipated.

He watched, amusement curling at the corners of his lips, as the women's faces became more frustrated and contorted. Poppy was a very deep sleeper, and sometimes it took several minutes of watching her brush at her nose before she would either sneeze or smack herself awake. Hermione, it seemed, wouldn't be quite so long. She sucked in a deep breath and in a salvo of spittle and mucus, released a tremendous atchooooo that echoed throughout the room. She promptly woke, squinting at her surroundings and getting her bearings. The sneeze was enough to wake Poppy also, who reached into her night robe and withdrew a plain white handkerchief. Albus clapped his hands to alert the now wide-awake witches that he was present.

"Good morning, Madame Pomfrey and Miss Granger. I thank you for your vigilance this evening, and I am glad to report your services will not be needed. The castle wards alerted me that Professor Snape and Mister Malfoy returned, and I promptly received the professor's patronus, letting me know that they were both unscathed. They will join me in my office for debriefing, as is customary, and then adjourn to their respective rooms." He paused, taking in the relief evident on the faces before him. Yes, it had been a fortunate event that neither spy needed medical attention. "Now Miss Granger, I'm sure you would like to return to the Head Girl's Room to get some rest and leave Madame Pomfrey to find her own bed." As he spoke, a little twinkle sprouted in the corner of his eye; he knew she would not be in her room alone for very long.

"Thank you, Professor Dumbledore. May I use the floo?"

"Absolutely, Miss Granger. Allow me." Walking back toward the hearth, he merely touched the mantel and the green flames came to life. Hermione wearily extricated herself from the chair. Despite the cushioning charm, she felt her knees crack. She was nearly to the floo when she turned back toward the mediwitch, now standing in front of her own chair. "Thank you, Madame Pomfrey. I won't forget what you told me tonight." And with that, she went through to her own chambers.

Albus and Poppy stood side by side at the foot of the first bed that had been prepared. It was a view the two of them knew well, and they were both grateful that it was unmarred by the battered body of the potions master. "Thank you, Poppy, for taking Miss Granger under your wing."

"That's not what I did, and you know it. I told the girl I wouldn't pry into her private affairs; you know that's not my way. But, I hope you're sure about whatever it is that you're meddling in."

Laying a gentle hand on her shoulder, he responded. "Ah, ever the caretaker. Miss Granger is an exceptional young woman. I have no doubts that she is equal to nearly any task and probably then some. Before this war is over, she will prove herself instrumental to its outcome." Poppy familiarly leaned into Albus, taking comfort in his words and closeness. She made a contended sigh.

"I'll leave it to you, Albus. And now, I'm off to bed. Think I'm due a decent lie-in this morning. Don't look for me at breakfast." And with that, she pulled away from him and made her way toward her private chambers, leaving the Headmaster to his own devices.

**SS**

Hermione returned to her room with her head spinning. She was thrilled to hear that Draco was physically ok, but she worried for his mental state. How could being near Voldemort not be mentally distressing, especially with the threat of legilimancy looming? It was early morning now, close to 4AM. The nap in the infirmary had refreshed her, but she still felt bone weary inside. Rather than take up her usual pacing, she opted to flop onto the settee. Silently, Hermione _accioed_ a crocheted blanket her grandmum had made years ago. Wrapping the soft acrylic swath of fabric around her body, she found a comfortable spot so she could continue to doze while still being close to the fireplace. Just in case. She knew it was unlikely that Draco would floo her or even come through at this hour, especially after everything that might have happened this evening. Still, her eyes drifted shut as she thought, "just in case."

Her head lilted to one side as sleep took over. Crookshanks silently stalked into the lounge through the open bedroom door. He spotted Hermione's curled form on the sofa. It had been five years since she had taken him from the Magical Menagerie, and in that time he had developed a fondness for the witch. She rarely tried to impose on him and always made sure he got a tasty cut of meat for dinner. As humans went, he found her generally to be a sensible one. Generally. When it came to that detestable orange-haired boy who had consumed so much of her time, that was another matter. Good riddance to bad rubbish as far as he was concerned, for both the boy and that blasted rat. Oh if only he had gotten his long, sharp claws into the fur of that horrid thing! And just when he thought things were back to normal, he found someone else sleeping in his spot. Ridiculous! That scratch was well-earned. Didn't that Slytherin half-wit know that it was _his_ bed?

Crookshanks stopped in front of Hermione and sat on his haunches, appraising the sleeping witch. He knew her to be a smart girl. He watched from corners and from behind furniture to see her practicing her magic, sometimes for hours at a stretch. Yet, once again, she was doing something immensely foolish. She should be sleeping in the bed, but she was there instead. Stupid chit! She would wake with aching back and cramped legs. Flicking his tail to and fro, Crookshanks weighed his options. He could pounce on her, instantly waking her and goading her to go to bed. While that felt appealing, somehow he acquiesced with his less mischievous side. Stretching a bit, he walked to the empty end of the settee and lightly jumped onto the cushion. Carefully, one paw at a time, he moved closer to Hermione. And after a minute of maneuvering, he turned in a circle in the small space just at the bend of her legs. He nestled into the spot, rubbing his holed ear against her thigh. His purring rumbled deeply inside of his chest as his eyes drifted closed. Foolish witch. Somehow he knew that this would only be the beginning.

**SS**

Severus Snape wasted no time when the two men touched back into the little copse of trees. His wand had been drawn as they _apparated_, and he used it now, forming a complex design midair. "When you return from any kind of Deatheater engagement, any kind, you must immediately begin the process of alerting the Headmaster, calling for help if necessary, and if not, reversing and removing any Dark Magic lingering on your person." Draco barely had time to catch his bearings when they landed before Severus had begun instructing. Important lessons he knew, but he also needed a minute. His godfather's voice became a muffled drone as he stumbled down to all fours. Draco tried to breathe deeply, tried to focus his mind elsewhere, but his stomach was roiling and soon there was nothing for it. He gave into the horrible sickness building inside of him and soon was expelling nothing more than the acid from his guts.

Draco was shaking by the time he was finished. A white handkerchief hovered within his view, and he gratefully reached up to take the gift. Simultaneously he wiped his mouth and brow while shifting back to sit on his bottom. His elbows rested on his knees, and he finally felt like he could take that minute. "It gets easier each time. _Evanesco!_" The evidence of his upset stomach disappeared, and Severus came to sit next to him. "I've let the Headmaster know that we have returned and are not in need of medical attention."

"I'm sorry," he said apologetically. "You know I'm much better at _apparition_; this hasn't happened since I was practicing for my license."

"It's not the _apparition_." I soul weary sigh escaped from Severus's mouth as he reclined his posture to lean on his elbows and stare at the Scottish night sky. "And I'm sorry. It never occurred to me to warn you that this would happen. I've been doing this for so long that I've learned to effectively push aside and compartmentalize everything that might prevent me from completing my mission. After being summoned, my first priority is to make contact and be debriefed as soon as possible. I can afford the luxury of dealing with myself later."

"You said this will get easier."

"It will. You will also learn the skills that allow your mind to maintain greater focus. But, with the information we learned this evening, there isn't a lot of time to allow for the focus to be honed."

"I understand." And he did. If he was to become an effective spy, to perform in exactly the right ways so as to convince the Dark Lord of one thing and work for another, then he would need to master his mind without delay. "What were you saying when we reappeared here?" His question indicated that he was ready to continue the lesson.

"When we return from any kind of Deatheater meeting, whether it's a formal meeting, casual socializing, or a revel, we must quickly assess ourselves and make contact with the castle. The wards know when we've arrived and alert Albus to our presence, but it can be crucial to send a direct message. It may be life or death. There were times early in the first war when I felt the Dark Lord's wrath so much that it left me broken, incoherent, and sometimes unconscious. Before Albus and I worked out a system, it was up to him to find me, conceal me, and ferry me to the hospital wing. More than once he has given me his own blood because there was little left of my own.

"The castle has been accommodating, giving us this safe haven, but it's still a long way to the infirmary. If you are injured or worse, then you need _someone_ to get you there. That's why it's crucial to maintain your mind, if only long enough to send a patronus or spell to the Headmaster."

"You sent your patronus just now?"

"I did. It's the most efficient way. It's difficult to fake a patronus, particularly when they must speak. But, it also takes tremendous focus and ability to make a fully formed patronus. We will need to choose something that will be easier for you in the time being." Draco simply nodded his assent.

"After we contact the castle, assuming we're ok, what happens next?" Severus rose and offered his hand to help Draco stand. He gratefully took it and with Severus's help, pulled himself to his feet.

"Then we must begin the process of checking ourselves for lingering spells and removing any traces of Dark Magic. As you know, Deatheaters aren't the most trustworthy bunch, and there have been many nights I've returned to find a spell or two attached to me. We can take precautionary measures, adding spell repelling charms to your robes and clothes, but sometimes things slip through." He raised his wand again and began the intricate sigil.

Though unseen, the magical intensity increased and Draco could feel it pressing against his body. There was no doubt that Severus was a formidable wizard. While he was not known for his wand work, particularly as the potions master, it was clear that he wielded a wand with the same expert efficiency with which he brewed. At last, the palpable feeling of the magic ebbed. "It appears," said Severus, "that we our fortunate tonight. I can find no trace of magic upon us that is not our own. Now we must make our way to the castle to share what we have learned."

**SS**

Hours later the floo lit green in the Head Boy's Room and practically spit out a beyond exhausted Draco Malfoy. The sun had been up for more than an hour; he watched it rise through the stained glass window in the Headmaster's office. When he and Severus first arrived, it was a bustle of civilized activity. They were ushered to the posh chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk and were offered Humbugs for their trouble. They declined the candy in favor of some fire whisky that had been retrieved from a concealed liquor cabinet that was nearby. And then it began. Severus related every detail from the moment they landed in front of the gates to Malfoy Manner up to the part where the Dark Lord had bid him to come forward. It was his turn to tell the story, explaining exactly what had passed between them, specifically focusing on the part where the Dark Lord had entered his mind. Draco was grateful that Dumbledore hadn't used legilimancy to see the night's events for himself. He would have been too tired to hold his occlumency shields, and the last thing he wanted the old man to see were his recent memories of Hermione.

Between the two of them, he and Severus filled in the rest of the evening, including his trip to the West Wing and the discovery that his mother was missing. Dumbledore said little for most of the debriefing, but did have questions about his family. "Does it not strike you as odd that your father had no inkling that your mother was not within the manner's walls?" Draco thought for a moment.

"At one time it might have been strange, but not now. Since before the summer holiday, mother had removed herself from most of the house's day to day activities. She ate in her rooms, rarely joining us at the table. I sometimes would overhear her saying things about how the house was overrun with people."

"I see. And your father didn't object?"

"Not at all. I think he was pleased to keep her out of the way."

Here Dumbledore frowned, and Draco wasn't sure why. There wasn't time to dwell as the Headmaster continued. "Well, rest assured Mr. Malfoy, I will send word to the right people that your mother is not to be counted as an enemy. If what your house elf has said is true, and I've not doubt that it is, then take comfort that she is safely cloistered somewhere."

"Thank you, Professor." Although he was beyond tired, gratitude swelled in his heart.

And that concluded the debriefing. Pleasantries were further exchanged and congratulations for a successful mission with a safe return. Then it was through the floo and straight into his room. Draco had every intention of sleeping through the rest of Sunday if given half a chance. He didn't bother to shed his clothes as he moved through his rooms to the bedroom. He flopped as though boneless onto the mattress and knew no more.


	24. Chapter 24

_Again, a tremendous thank you to the readers who continue to read the updates for this story. I'm not sure how it happens, but life gets busy (just bought and moved into my first house!) and somehow writing fanon ends up at the bottom of my list. Still, it's ON the list, so thanks for sticking with me on this journey._

_As always, everything belongs to JKR._

After standing in the doorway to the grand Malfoy Manor for some minutes, Timple clutched the lone glove to his stained pillowcase clad chest and _apparated_. He had been born in the cellars of the manor more than a century ago and had never been away from the grounds. Not once in his long life. Still, he instinctively knew where he needed to go. Hogwarts. It was widely known amongst elves that the castle was a safe haven. No matter the circumstances, no elf was ever turned away. Dobby's story, which had become almost mythic, reaffirmed to many elves that it was possible to maintain a sense of freedom while still being able to quench the need to serve.

When he opened his eyes, Timple found himself in the middle of a bustling kitchen filled with elves. He could scarcely believe his eyes. Everyone around him smiled and chattered back and forth as they prepared what looked like bread. Probably for the breakfast meal, he surmised. In the Malfoy kitchens, they were forbade to talk, let alone carry on animated conversations like these elves. To his left, he caught sight of an elf who had stopped her work to stare at him. She assessed him thoroughly with her eyes, and a bright smile soon lit her features. "New arrival!" she shouted. Every elf in the vicinity ceased working and turned to face her and subsequently followed her now outstretched arm and pointed finger to the spot where Timple stood. Reflexively, he folded in on himself defensively under so much scrutiny. "Alright, alright," a loud voice boomed from the back. The crowd parted and an elf dressed in a pair of breeches and loose fitting shirt made her way to the front. "You can all greet the newcomer later. We have bread to bake!" And with that, the kitchen was once again a flurry of activity.

"Welcome to Hogwarts. What's your name?"

"Is Timple." He couldn't meet her gaze. He didn't feel afraid, but she had an imposing presence. And, it was clear by the way her brief words had spurred the others into action that she was important.

"Hi, Timple. My name is Effie, and I am the Head House Elf of Hogwarts. Don't mind the title much; I just keep things organized and moving. Now, let's sit down and have a nice cup of tea, and you can tell me all about you." Effie turned and moved toward a door that he hadn't noticed before. Timple felt rooted to the spot. He had never been asked to sit down for tea, not even by another elf. At the manner, if the elves were not working, they were asleep.

Effie stopped midway to the door and beckoned him to follow once more. With effort, his leaden feet moved and he soon found himself in an orderly dining room with long tables set with benches on either side. "This is our dining room. While we are welcome to go anywhere we like, most of us prefer to eat here in the company of other elves rather than wizards. Please, take a seat." Still feeling overwhelmed, Timple gingerly sat on the corner of the nearest bench. He looked around the room and noticed that the walls were decorated with a number of clothing items. A green hat. A red and white striped tube with a ribbed end that appeared to be the remaining arm from a sweater. A pair of blue star pattern boxer shorts. And lots of socks.

"I see you're noticing our collection." Effie seated herself on the opposite side of the table. She placed a cup and saucer in front of Timple and poured the steaming brown tea from a cozy covered tea pot. "There have been many elves released from service who have come to Hogwarts. Over the years, the items that were their liberation made their way here and put on display. It's a good reminder to us that there are potentially millions of elves who are not free." Although he heard what Effie said, he found himself transfixed on one item in particular. It was a tiny red knitted glove. Instinctively, Timple's hand moved to his chest to feel the spot where his own glove, now magically glued to the inside of his pillowcase, resided.

"Ah," said Effie as she noticed where his gaze had fallen. "That item is particularly special. The glove was bestowed to Tipton, who still is here in the castle, sometime during the 1950s. As she tells it, the family she was bound to had a grand lineage but had begun to decline in wealth and privilege. The master of the family had grown angry and bitter at the change in his family's station, and his misery spread throughout the home. One night, the master's little daughter saw him beat Tipton savagely after serving a meager dinner made from the dregs of the pantry. That night she snuck down to the kitchen and gave Tipton a glove from her favorite pair. She knew that what her father had done was wrong, even at such a tender age."

Timple pressed his calloused, knobby hands to his eyes to clear the tears that had begun trickling down his face. Next to the story of Dobby and Harry Potter, it was one of the most touching things he had ever heard. No one cared about house elves. The wizards never noticed them unless there was a mistake or they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And in houses like the Malfoy's that was more often than not. He couldn't help but remember the monotonous years of abuse, all of the pain and suffering he had endured. But there was never anyone to sneak into the kitchen for him, or for the others for that matter. Grinding his knuckles into his eyes to stem the flow, Timple snuffled a few times before lowering his hands to the hem of his pillowcase, which he lifted to blow his nose.

"Hey now." He felt a hand clasp his own, preventing him from reaching his destination. "Instead of your gown, use this." He could feel rather than see a cloth being tucked into his fisted hand. Dropping the pillowcase, he felt the cool cotton of the hanky on his rough skin and eventually used it to blow his nose. After wiping his face dry, Timple moved to hand the now wet cloth back to Effie. "That's alright. You keep it now." His face turned bewildered. "I know it will take some getting used to, but you can have things of your own now that you're free from service. And if you decide to stay with us, the castle will make sure you have your own room and plenty of space for your own things."

He had barely spoken since he had popped into the Hogwarts kitchen, and the question now seemed to fly from his mouth unbidden. "A room of my own?" he squeaked.

"Absolutely!" Effie beamed. "The castle is sensitive to every living thing that comes within its walls from ants and spiders to the Headmaster himself. We are what make this castle a home away from home. We cook the dinners and do the laundry and sweep up the crumbs and, most importantly, keep the secrets. And we do it because we want to. Not because we are told, forced, to serve. If anything, we serve the castle, bound to Hogwarts instead of a man. It will take time, but if you choose to stay, you'll better understand what I mean. Drink your tea."

Although she hadn't meant it as a command, Timple immediately reached for the teacup and drank down the now luke-warm liquid. She chuckled and smiled. "It will take time," she repeated warmly. He returned the cup to his saucer and looked at her expectantly. Now what?

**SS**

Hermione's eyes began to creak open, carefully allowing her eyelashes to filter the morning sunlight streaming through the windows to a manageable amount. Where was she? What time was it? And why couldn't she feel her feet? The questions tumbled through her mind one after the other. After a minute or so, her eyes had sufficiently adjusted so that she could take in her surroundings. The familiar décor or the Head Girl's Room came into focus and she sighed, relieved that she was not still in the infirmary. Stretching her arms high above her head, she wiggled her fingers to bring full sensation back to the tips. Satisfied that her hands weren't tingling with pins and needles, Hermione attempted a similar operation with her legs, feet, and toes. This time she found her motor functions weren't working so smoothly.

Although she shifted the weight of her legs, she discovered that they were pinned to the sofa by something that now registered as very warm in addition to being heavy. One glance and she recognized the telltale orange ball of hair that prevented her from freeing her legs. "Morning, Crooks," she said. Smiling at him, Hermione twisted her torso to maneuver her arms so that she could lift slash push the sleeping half-kneazle from her legs. As her hands gripped his ribs, Crookshanks protested with a loud yowl and rolled over to escape. Fortunately, he had rolled in the best direction possible, now tucking himself into the seam between the cushions and back rest.

Gingerly, she swung her legs off of the settee and rested her feet on the floor. A moment more and she stood, ready to start her day. There was one problem; Hermione's feet didn't agree, and she found herself falling as she failed to step forward. Now she was lying facedown on the rug and began to feel the pressure of blood rushing toward her toes. It was incredibly uncomfortable, and she quickly reached down to vigorously rub her feet in hopes of staving off pins and needles. No such luck. Wincing as the horrid pricking sensation began, Hermione ceased touching her feet and opted just to wait it out. Although her feet were in agony, she enjoyed the sunshine the hit the right side of her body. It was soothing and comfortable, and she felt as though she could take a little nap. But of course her stomach rumbled, breaking the sleepy spell and reminding her that there was a lot to do.

Satisfied that the worst of the pain was over, she slowly got to her feet and took careful steps toward the fireplace. "Kitchens!" she shouted as she tossed a pinch of powder into the fireplace. The usual green flames erupted from the grate and a house elf's head bobbed within them. "What can I gets for the Head Girl?"

"I'm sorry, I'm not sure what time it is. Have I missed breakfast in the Great Hall?" The little elf squeaked, not used to answering questions.

"You has, Miss."

"I'm sorry about that. Would you send a plate of breakfast food to my room? Whatever was left over. Scrambled eggs, toast, tomato juice. Really anything at all."

"Right away, Miss." The elf winked away and the flames disappeared. In the time it took Hermione to make a trip to the loo (oh the relief of being able to poo knowing she was totally alone!), the house elves had done their magic and set up a breakfast tray in her lounge. Just as she had requested: scrambled eggs, toast, and tomato juice. She smiled as she piled some of her eggs onto a piece of toast. She always had to remind herself that the elves took her at her literal word.

Hermione ate and paced around her room, occasionally stopping back at the tray to concoct another egg sandwich. Unsure of what the day's events would be and whether or not she would see Draco, she tried to plan for several possibilities. In the end, her mind kept coming back to Draco. With his unexpected summons to Voldemort, she knew that something had likely changed for the course of the war. Still, she wasn't reaching for her wand or for the arithmancy that had come to consume so much of her life. No, these were not the things that came to mind as she ate and paced. Settling on a course of action, she finished the last of her makeshift egg sandwich and went straight back to her bathroom.

After a long, hot shower and some serious hair maintenance, Hermione emerged from the bathroom feeling refreshed and determined. With a towel wrapped around her body and another wrapped her head swami-style, she proceeded to delve deeply into her wardrobe. Past the everyday robes and uniforms. Past the potions ingredients. Past the Hogsmead weekend clothing. Hiding at the very back of the wardrobe, she found exactly what she was looking for.

Ten minutes later she was dressed, her hair was tied into a pony tail, and she was ready to officially start her day. The fireplace flared green as she tossed in the floo powder. A knot formed in her stomach and she wondered for a second if she shouldn't rethink her plan. Pushing her Gryffindor courage to the fore, she shouted, "Head Boy's Room!" and stepped through.

When the green flames faded, the room was rather dark and it took Hermione's eyes a full minute to adjust. Bit by bit she made out the larger pieces of furniture: the sofa, an Edwardian style wingback chair, a desk, a conversation table with two chairs. Then the finer details came like the black robe that lay in a heap just to her left. And in front of that? She squinted her eyes and tried to make out the cream colored thing that lay a foot ahead of the robe. Cautiously, wand at the ready, she took a step forward, bypassing the robe to stare at the object. A twisted skeletal face. When it registered, she shuffled back. Heart racing, her mind seemed to speed along with every beat in her chest. She was truly in the snake pit.

It was necessary to take several deep breaths to calm herself before she proceeded. And when her heart had almost returned to its normal rhythm, she stepped forward, not glancing toward the mask, and moved through the room. She lit the tip of her wand to help guide her around the furniture, and near the back of the room found the doorway she presumed lead to Draco's bedroom. Again she rallied her courage as she reached for the doorknob, and slowly ever so slowly turned it until she heard the latch click.

Before entering the darkened room, she peaked her wand through the crack and whispered, "_lumos_!" Instantly the room brightened to match the same muted glow from the lounge. Her body inched forward, and Hermione's face peered into the room. Immediately her gaze landed on the large, rectangular form in the room—the bed—and more particularly, the clothed lump of body that was in the middle of it. Knowing that there was a good chance he might attack her, she took a second to shield herself, just as she had in the Great Hall after the confrontation with Harry, before fully stepping into the room. Her desire was to climb onto the bed with Draco and nuzzle his face with her nose until he was awake. Her instincts disagreed. Instead she whispered, "_lumos_!" a second time, making the room's lighting two shades brighter.

In reaction to the change, Draco grunted and rolled over onto his side. He was now on the right side of the mattress, closer to Hermione. His face looked tense, and he clenched and unclenched his fists. A deep furrow formed across her brow, and she wondered what he was dreaming about. Then again, she wasn't sure she actually wanted to know. Her heart ached at the thoughts of what he might've seen in these early Sunday hours. And that feeling propelled her forward, against her better judgment, to kneel at his bedside. Heart racing, Hermione checked that her shield charms were still firmly in place. While she was behaving rashly by her standards, she wasn't fool enough to believe that he wouldn't attack her.

As she was calculating what to do next, Hermione silently but heavily exhaled. Her breath washed over Draco's face, and before she had time to think, time to react, she found herself laid out on the Persian rug, the tip of a wand digging painfully into the flesh under her jaw. "Who are you!?" he shouted, jabbing the wand a bit deeper into her throat for emphasis. There were no other words for it: Hermione was terrified. Draco's face was twisted with anger. Although his eyes were open, he could not properly see as they had not adjusted in the dim light. Nearly paralyzed, she could only make a frightened squeak in lieu of words. A tear leaked from her right eye and trailed down the slope of her cheek toward her ear. "Who. Are. You."

This time she managed to cough in response to his threatening question. Their faces were so close that her exhalation had no where to go but into his next breath. As he drew in her scent, his eyes went unfocused and his muscles relaxed just enough. Hermione's fight instinct kicked in, and using his weight as leverage she toppled him to the side, dislodging the wand from her neck. She scurried backward simultaneously reaching for her own wand. Witch and wizard pointed their wands at each other from their seated positions on the cold stone floor. With every passing second, the features in Draco's face shifted from anger to bewilderment to understanding. He lowered his wand and whispered, "Hermione?"

A breath she didn't know she had been holding hissed through her teeth as she also lowered her wand. She heard the clatter of wood against the stone and knew Draco had dropped his wand; he shuffled on his hands and knees toward her. The terror that had only a moment ago been rushing through her body subsided. When he threw his arms around her and buried his face against her chest, awkwardly arching over her legs, she felt only concern and relief. The truth was that it had been a close call. Instead of demanding that she reveal her identity, he could have just hexed her and asked questions later. She was grateful things hadn't gone that way; she wasn't sure if her shield charms would've held at such close proximity.

Once again they were huddled together on the floor, and Hermione thought, "this is getting to be a habit with us." Draco silently sobbed against her, shaking with each breath. A few more minutes and his jagged breaths regulated and he sat back, letting his hands rest at her waist. "I could've killed you." His eyes were serious, boring into hers. He continued: "I don't want to blame you for coming here, not after my sudden disappearance last night, but you had to know that _something_ could happen to you."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come, because I did think about that right after I stepped through the floo. I even charmed myself in case you might throw a hex at me. I'm sorry."

"Hermione," he paused and his voice went low. "I don't know what I'd do if I ever hurt you. I've done a lot of horrible things in my short life, but I'm not sure I could live with myself if I hurt you, even if it was an accident." His face was grave, and by the timbre of his voice she understood his implication. She straightened her back and spoke with her usual know-it-all authority.

"Then we'll need to figure out a way to ensure that doesn't and can't happen. At any rate, I'm fine. You're fine. Are you hungry? Would you like me to order breakfast?"

"Hermione, this is serious. You can't just shove this under the rug."

"And I'm not, but I need some time to think about what we can do to make sure that kind of thing isn't even a possibility." Draco's expression remained solemn, and she could tell he was not going to give in so easily. She brought her hand up to caress his cheek. "I promise you that I am taking this as seriously as you are. But right now, I'm just grateful that you're physically ok and that I'm here with you now. I spent most of my night in the infirmary helping Madame Pomfrey ready the hospital wing for you and Professor Snape to return injured. She was pretty clear in describing what could have happened to you." Although, she left out the part where she had mostly slept in a chair while she waited, a rather Slytherin move on her part. She saw his features soften and the corners of his mouth turn upward and knew he would relent.

"I am ok. And, I'm really glad you're here." Leaning forward, he embraced her once again. Hermione reciprocated in kind, but to make their hug less awkward, she slowly shifted to her knees so they could touch more fully. Pressing light kisses into her neck and hairline, Draco whispered his affection for her over and over, reiterating that he was indeed glad she was in his chambers. His warm breath tickled the shell of her ear and unbidden, her head lilted to the side giving him greater access. Taking her cue, he continued to travel upward where his lips attached to her lobe and a deep moan drifted up through her throat.

Pleased with her reaction, Draco doubled his efforts. He briefly removed his lips to breathe a long, warm breath over her moistened skin. She shuddered in his arms, and he could wait no longer as he changed position to close their distance with a searing kiss. What started as an act of gentle intimacy quickly turned into one of desire and need. Hermione clutched him to her, fisting his shirt to gain further purchase. One kiss and they became a frenzied tangle of limbs on the bedroom floor. Hermione was quickly rid of her long sleeve t-shirt; her trousers were another matter. Draco's nimble fingers reached the band and sought out the button, but found none. Instead they came into contact with something that felt completely un-button like. With great effort, he pulled away long enough to glance at the soft but firm fabric that he had been manipulating. "What are you wearing?"

A frustrated huff filled the room. "_Divesto_!" she nearly shouted as both her own and Draco's clothing vanished from their bodies. "Nothing. Now get on with it before I hex you!" It was clear that she had made a command and not a request. He could only chuckle as he readily obeyed her. When Hermione's back touched the stone-cold floor, she arched into him, reacting from the temperature change. The chuckle became a low belly-laugh as Draco tightened his hold on her. "Not so keen now, are you? Forgot you were in the dungeons, little Gryffindor."

"Shut, up." Although Draco tried to protest, he quickly discovered that his mouth was being invaded by Hermione's tongue. There was nothing for it; they dueled, parrying and thrusting back and forth for dominance. Each time he felt he was gaining ground and had the upper hand, Hermione did something to regain the advantage. She tickled his ribs; she pinched his nipple. He thought, "well, if it's dirty quidditch she wants, it's dirty quidditch she'll get!"

Cupping the back of her head with his hands, Draco pressed his weight forward. Feeling off kilter, Hermione withdrew her tongue from battle in order to brace herself. It was too late; her back met the cold floor, and her high pitched squeak was stifled in her mouth as Draco reasserted himself. The roughness of the stone scraped his knuckles, but he hardly felt it as Hermione's hands glided the length of his body, briefly stopping to trace the f curves of pelvis, before caressing the base of his penis. Deftly, she shifted her body beneath him so that they were precisely aligned. Slowly Hermione drew the tip of his erection down the engorged, warm flesh of her vulva, pushing her hips forward at just the right instant when the head would depress into her waiting vagina.

All rational thought left Draco's mind as his body followed through, his hard cock drawn into her by an insurmountable invisible force. He panted as he struggled to gain control of his body, wanting to viciously thrust back and forth to slake his need while remembering that the jagged floor would hurt them both. A few seconds more and clarity prevailed in his thoughts, and it was at that exact moment when Hermione lifted her lips to his ear and breathily said: "I win." She punctuated her triumph by arching her back, tilting her hips in such a way that he could feel the inside of her body force his foreskin the remainder of the way over the edge of his sensitive head. Draco gasped at the unexpected pleasure that rocketed through his nerves.

"This is war," he thought to himself as he began to withdraw his now glistening rod from her folds. He reached his right arm under her left thigh, gripping her body to him as crashed into her a second time. The rough stones scraped his knees and he knew her back would be a mess before they were finished. Torn between briefly stopping to move to a safer location or continuing and healing the consequences afterward, Hermione made his decision when she commanded, "do it again!" And he did. Over and over with a force he didn't know he was capable of, Draco ploughed into her body as he watched her every reaction.

It didn't take long before she was whimpering, tossing her head side to side with each thrust. When she started to garble, "so close," repeatedly, he redoubled his efforts. Hermione shifted her pelvis again to increase the friction in the right places and tumbled over the edge into orgasm. Her body continued to work in time with Draco's, but the sensations twisting and curling through her stole every ounce of her focus. She heard his sharp gasp and spluttered cough, signaling his own release. She slowed her movements, letting his body work through his orgasm with erratic, jerky thrusts. Although his energy was sapped, he carefully lowered his weight, entering and withdrawing from Hermione's body one last time, before rolling to the side to spoon against her. Both surrounded in the comfortable glow of their comedown, they lay there entwined.

It was short-lived as their sweated bodies began to shiver in the dungeon's chilled air. Draco was first to move, stretching his limbs before returning to a more upright position. His knees made contact with the floor, and he winced at the pain from the fresh scratches. Doing his best to ignore it, he offered his hands to Hermione to pull her from her supine posture. Their hands clasped together and he said, "careful. Let's move into the bathroom for a shower. I want to take a look at your back." Nodding in agreement, Hermione could already feel the wounds on her shoulder blades begin to sting.

Artificial light streamed through the charmed windows of the bedroom, filling the room with a cheery warmth, heightened by their post-coital bliss. Walking into the bathroom, the ambiance was completely different. There were windows there, too, but instead of being charmed with sunlight, they were a strange murky greenish blackish tint. Although the room was plenty bright and it was easy enough to see all of the fixtures and details of the room, the windows didn't appear to be doing any of the work. Transfixed by the colors, now appearing to churn and swirl in irregular ways, Hermione approached one of the windows. When she pressed her palm to the glass, it was absolutely freezing cold. The heat from her hand condensed around it, and she smiled as the glass frosted around her hand.

Without warning, she felt vibrations tap through the glass on the underside of her hand. She wrenched it away just in time to see a large, ugly fish stare at her for a second before disappearing into the blackness. Draco's voice came from closely behind. "One of the reasons the dungeons stays so cool is because we're partly submerged in the Black Lake. There aren't many windows like these in the student quarters; it's considered one of the perks of the Head Boy's Room. Every now and then I catch a glimpse of the Giant Squid."

Still staring into the abyss, she replied. "How strange. I sometimes think about the danger I was in when I was in the lake for the tournament. I mean, Dumbledore assured me, as well as the others, that we would be perfectly safe, but there was always a little doubt. For days afterward, I felt like I couldn't get warm, like I was absolutely frozen to my bones no matter how many jumpers I wore or how closely to the fire I stood."

"I haven't thought about that in a long time. It was not a good year for me." He was behind her now; his fingertips grazing the soft skin on the nape of her neck. "Hold still a moment and I'll magically clean your wounds."

"Alright." She heard him muttering a few basic healing spells and felt the warm magic seep into each nick and scratch and cut that marred her back. When he was finished, his hands trailed the broad expanse of her skin and she leaned into him, enjoying the sensation. He wrapped his arms around her waist, capturing her body against his. "Shall we have that shower?"

"Sounds like a plan." Draco released her, and she turned to follow his gesture toward the shower stall. As before they washed each other with great care using a soft, soapy sponge. This time Draco turned his back to her with no hesitation or concern; Hermione kissed each scar before she washed it. When they were through, they returned to the bedroom wrapped in towels, finding their clothes in neat folded piles at the edge of the bed. When Hermione reached for her clothes, Draco stopped her a moment, pointing to her puzzling trousers. "What are those?"

"They're a kind of muggle trouser called jeans. Most muggles wear them daily as they've taken the place of other kinds of trousers."

"Strange." He picked up the brownish blue trousers and examined them, paying particular attention to the fastenings that had given him so much trouble before.

"They're made of a durable cotton, but sometimes they have something called elastic in the fabric to give them stretch. The rivets, these little pieces here and here, and the button, also a kind of rivet, are metal, again for durability."

He handed them to her, still a little perplexed. When they were dressed, they made their way to the living room. At this point it was nearly lunchtime, but neither was ready to face the company of the student body in the Great Hall. Draco ordered lunch from the kitchens while Hermione took a seat in the wingback chair. "I know something big has happened. Dumbledore was very worried that you and Professor Snape were summoned last night at an unusual day and hour. And, I also know that it won't be possible to avoid what is coming for much longer. Everyone, especially us, has a tremendous amount of work to do."

On the settee, he sat with his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together; he nodded, understanding that she had more to say. "Draco, this is, um, weird for me." She took a deep breath and seemed to steady herself before continuing. "Before this, us, I would've gone back to the library, researched all day and night, worked myself into a frenzy all in the hope of finding something, anything, to help Harry Potter and the Order in the Final Battle.

And while a big part of me wants to do that, a bigger part wants to be where you are. I was petrified that you might return last night in a state just short of death, _crucio_ed beyond repair. This morning, I knew there could be serious consequences to showing up in your room totally unannounced, but I had to know you were ok. Against all my reasoning and judgment, I came through the floo just the same."

"Hey, I did exactly the same thing for you last night, didn't I? When I heard about what had happened in the Great Hall, I was absolutely sick with worry that you were injured, despite what Pansy and Blaise had said." He paused, a huge grin spreading over his features. "I'm no expert, but I think this is the way it's supposed to be." At this point, he rose from the couch and came to kneel in front of Hermione, ignoring the sharp pains in his knees. "I'm man enough to admit that at some things, you're the best. While you may not be an Arithmancy Mistress like Professor Vector, I have every confidence in your work and ability. The graphs don't lie, Hermione. Every time I even think about how crazy this is, I think about those two lines on the graph. A silver one and brown one, twined together."

Their hands clutched as one, and they stared into each other's eyes. The spell was broken when a house elf popped into the room, bearing a tray with their lunch. They both began to laugh. "This is crazy, right?" Hermione asked.

"Completely mad," Draco confirmed. "Come on, let's have some lunch." Using the chair as leverage, he pulled himself to his feet and made his way to the silver tray with Hermione closely behind. Before he put his hand on the silver dome covering the food, she stopped him with her hand on his arm.

"So what I meant to get out in all of this is, I have a surprise for you today, and if it's alright with you, I'd like to show it to you before we go back to the real world, back to school, the war, and everything that's not about us."

"Can we have lunch first?"

"Absolutely."


	25. Chapter 25

_Thank you once again to everyone who continues to follow this journey and a sincere welcome to newcomers. This continues to be a late-night labor of love for me. It takes time for updates, but I have made the self-commitment to see this through. I appreciate each of you who take the time to read, as well as those who also review. I especially appreciate those who point out some of my s,g,p,&d mistakes. I am generally pretty good about catching things, but since I don't beta and it's important to me to update chapters ASAP, things slip through. Thanks for your good eyes!_

_And once again, everything belongs to JKR. I'm just having fun.  
_

Harry Potter stumped down the long empty corridor away from Gryffindor Tower. It was late Sunday morning, and as he made his way, he replayed the conversation from the Headmaster's Office. Dumbledore, for the first time in his life, had given him a proper dressing down. Hot off the heels of Hermione's public humiliation spectacular in the Great Hall, it made his heart burn with shame. The worst part was that unlike Hermione, Dumbledore didn't yell; he didn't even raise his voice. He sat in the chair _next_ to him, reached a liver-spotted hand across the gap to clasp his own and said:

"Harry, for several years now I've let you do what you please. I've treated you with clemency at every turn but no more. Like your friend, I've grown weary of your self-pitying. More so because it is entirely unwarranted. Yes, you've a heavy burden to bear and you've known some hardship in your life, but when I think about the burdens and hardships others have borne, particularly in protecting you, your difficulties stand pale in comparison. Over all I'm thoroughly disappointed in the ways you've chosen to handle your lot in life despite the fact that you've had the love and support of good friends like Miss Granger and Mister Weasley and have had the love and support of the extended Weasley family. And while we might be a more unconventional family, the faculty here has also done everything possible to encourage you. Your actions of late make you appear ungrateful and selfish."

Dumbledore leaned forward and gripped his hand. "It will not continue." And that was the end of it. The professor stood, releasing his hold, and made his way to the office door in order to summon Hermione and Professor McGonagal.

Now he was sulking along as he stared at the worn stony floor. "Discovering the secrets of Hogwarts, Harry?"

The playful female voice startled him from his sullen trance. So much so that he stopped in his tracks and clutched his hand over his heart, feeling it thunder inside his ribcage. Padma Patil stood in front of him, a crooked smile twisting around her face. Harry came back to himself, lowered his hand, and felt himself blush. She continued. "It doesn't look like you're having much success. Perhaps you're looking too closely."

"Or maybe the castle just isn't ready to share its secrets." They grinned at each other. It felt good to smile. Padma's good-natured teasing was a hint of the familiar way things used to be. Before the Tri-Wizard Tournament. That was when things really changed for him. Even now he was haunted by Cedric Diggory's face in his nightmares, cold and unblinking in the moonlight. He was grateful that Cedric hadn't become a ghost, that he wasn't floating around the castle in his tattered Tri-Wizard kit chatting convivially with other Hufflepuffs in the Great Hall. He shuddered at the thought.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Padma asked more seriously. Normally, he would've given her the happy, placating, "yeah, I'm fine. Just a draft." But, something about the tone of her voice made him offer up the truth.

"No, not really. I'm, well…" he shuffled his feet and stared at the scuffed ends of his black shoes. "I'm all over the place."

"So it would seem." She considered him for a minute, watching his guarded yet raw behavior. He seemed so fragile, ready to have a break down at any moment. "Come with me." It wasn't a question or a request, it was a command. Now it was his turn to consider her. He and Padma had been sorted into very different houses and truthfully, their interaction in the last seven years had been minimal. During the tournament, she appeared to have developed a crush on Ron, pumping him for details about being submerged in the Black Lake at every opportunity. Then again, her crush was summarily squashed at the Yule Ball when it was clear Ron couldn't keep his attention anywhere except for Hermione.

While he'd had a smattering of classes with Ravenclaws through the years, their courses never seemed to match up. Or at least, he didn't think they had. Taking a quick second to think back, it was hard to recall who was actually in his classes outside of fellow Gryffindors and the Slytherin prats who were a constant source of aggravation. And when he widened his memory search, he discovered that the world was actually quite small. With exception of a few token friends from the other houses, he couldn't think of interactions with more than half the students. Well, outside of quidditch of course.

Harry took Padma's hand and followed her down the corridor.

**SS**

Like Harry, Ron sullenly sulked through the castle on Sunday morning, thinking about his lot in life. Yeah, he had a great family—well, except for that wanker, Percy—and he had great friends like Harry, Seamus, and Neville. But really, it wasn't enough. He felt badly admitting it to himself, but it was true. He never had a moment that was truly his own. Outside of the chess match in the subdungeons, he'd rarely been acknowledged for his achievements. Not that he'd had many. He always seemed to find himself just left of the spotlight. Runner up. Honorable mention. "Thanks, mate! I couldn't have done it without you."

He huffed as he turned a corner. Something was wrong. Taking in his surroundings, he noticed the light was much dimmer in this hallway than where he had been walking before. With tentative steps, he nudged forward. As he passed a freestanding column, the top lit with flames, illuminating a bigger section of the space. It was clear this part of the castle hadn't been used for a long time. The carpet was so dusty, Ron could see his hesitant footsteps behind him. And while he felt he should turn around, something in the pit of his stomach urged him forward. A dozen more steps and another column erupted in flames. And then a dozen more with the same result.

Ron approached what he thought was the end of the hallway. The carpet stopped, revealing the stone floor beneath, also blanketed with a layer of dust. And at the very end, a door. The niggling feeling settled somewhere between his stomach and his colon again applied pressure which seemingly forced his feet one in front of the other. He obeyed and soon he was standing in front of the door.

"You never know what's behind a door until you open it." At the sound of the high ethereal voice in the silent corridor, Ron awkwardly twisted his body around and flung his back against the door. As he turned, he drew his wand from the pocket of his trousers and pointed it down the middle of the hall. His plan was to hex first and ask questions later, but then the first torch lit and revealed Luna Lovegood in the soft light.

"Luna!" he admonished. "Whatcha doin' sneakin' up on a guy like that for? I might've killed you. Bloody hell!" Ron lowered his wand and returned it to his pocket. She didn't directly answer him. Instead she walked down the hallway, taking great care to step within the outline of the footsteps he had made in the dusty carpet. She was painstaking about it and her progress down the hallways was slow. A light sigh squeezed through his teeth as he thought, "she really is completely nutters."

Luna came to a stop in the last set of footprints just before Ron, her legs splayed in a full stride. "Sorry it took me so long; I didn't want to disturb more of the glockels. They live on the dust motes you know."

"Sure." He stared at her. She smiled amiably, waiting for him to further the conversation. "Um, have you been down here before?"

"No, but I expect that's because it was mostly off limits to the students. It doesn't look familiar?" She paused, giving him a chance to look around and think about it. A few seconds later, he shook his head.

"We're in the third floor corridor leading to the west wing." An icy chill ran down Ron's spine, and he felt his feet root to the spot. _This_ was the place! How had he ended up here? Of all the places he might have gone in the castle, how was it that his feet brought him to this place? Quickly, his mind hurtled into the past. The three headed dog, the trap door, the Devil's Snare, the damn chess match. Luna's soft, high-pitched voice brought him back to the moment, away from the vivid memories. "I understand that Hagrid moved Fluffy to a nicer part of the castle so he could get more exercise. Shall we go on?"

"Go in? Are you mad?"

"Not particularly. Why are you afraid? If Fluffy's not there, there's nothing to worry about."

"Nutters, you're completely nutters. Do you have any idea what happened in those rooms? And since then, it's only gotten worse. Dirty great snakes, dementors, spiders. Oh gods, the spiders!" Clearly distraught, Ron threw his hands in the air. Luna laid a calm hand on his shoulder.

"There are worse things yet to come." She whispered. It was a sobering thought. The wizarding world truly was facing domination at the hands of a mad man. If they didn't win the war, no one would be safe. And even if they did win, there were still a lot of people who were going to die. His family flashed before his eyes, a snapshot of a snapshot of the photo from Egypt. There were so many of them. The odds were not in their favor, knowing that everyone—except that prat, Percy—was an Order member.

His arms lowered and he put his head in his hands. Luna's hand remained and now she took one step closer and circled her free arm around his back, embracing him in a gentle hug. It had been a long time since he had been hugged. Well, by someone who was not his sister. The warmth of her body seeped through his clothes down to his skin. The anxiety and fear that had quickly arisen in his chest began to subside.

Unsure how it happened, he found himself reciprocating. He felt a bit of scratching at his back and Luna began to pull away. The feel of her close to him was comforting, and he was reluctant to let her go. But he did. Smiling brightly, she said, "alright then. Let's see what's behind this door." Deftly, in one swift motion, she sidestepped him, drew her wand, and said, "_Alohomora_!" She proceeded ahead, wand at the ready, and he followed behind her. Years later, when he thought back to that moment, he realized that he never had a chance.

**SS**

"So what is this surprise you're planning for today?" asked Draco as he happily chewed a bite of his roast beef sandwich.

"If I tell you, it's not really a surprise." Hermione considered the uneaten sandwich in her hand, examining the contents spilling between the slices of pumpernickel bread. A glassy onion caught her attention, and she carefully pulled it away from the other layers. Satisfied with the sandwich's appearance, she tucked in, enjoying the slight bite and heat from the horseradish and the cooling effect of the mayonnaise. Even the sandwiches at Hogwarts tasted like they came from five star restaurants. "And," she added tentatively, "it may turn out to be anticlimactic. I lot of this surprise is contingent on the castle."

"I'm intrigued." Reaching for another sandwich on the tray, his hand hovered between two that looked appetizing. While he was carefully weighing his decision, he heard Hermione's tinkling laughter. He paused, giving her a quizzical look.

"You have mustard on your cheek." He fought the urge to blush and looked down at the tray for a serviette. Of course Hermione was two steps ahead of him. She darted from the room toward his bathroom and returned with a wet flannel cloth. "Allow me," she said as she made to wipe the apple of his cheek. Wordlessly he turned into her gentle touch. "There we are." She stepped back to admire her handy work. "Nice and clean!" Draco couldn't remember the last time when someone had done something for him that was so simple yet so caring. His heart warmed. "Thanks."

Finishing their lunch, Hermione began to reveal some of the details for her surprise. "Obviously, it'll look strange if we go walking about the castle together. We'll need to go separately, but the trouble in that is if either of us is detained, we may not be able to communicate that fact. Our other possibility is that the castle may not want to cooperate today."

"This is getting more interesting all of the time. So where are we going?"

"To the seventh floor."

"Now you've really got my attention. There's nothing up there but empty classrooms and storage cupboards."

"That's what you think." She couldn't help it. She smirked at him. He reached for her, but she twisted away, knowing what it would mean if his lips even came near to hers. "Now, we need a plan. I'm going to floo back to the Head Girl's Room as it's closer and take the stairs to where I need to be. Now here's the tricky bit. You'll need to take the open floo from the east fifth floor corridor—you know the one under the painting of the Masters' at tea—and then have the castle direct you from there to the seventh floor."

"It doesn't sound too difficult. Well, beyond finding out where you are. Can't you give me better directions?"

"Afraid not. It's the castle that we're both dependent upon for this surprise of mine to work."

"Well, either way, I'll meet you on the seventh floor. One hour?"

"That'll be perfect." He reached for her again, and once more she danced away. She did something resembling a pirouette before grabbing a pinch of powder from the bronze bowl on the mantel and tossing it into the grate. For her coup de gras, Hermione blew Draco a kiss and stepped into the flames.

When she stepped through into her own room, she dashed toward the bedroom and collected a large satchel from one corner. Checking to see that it was empty, she began snatching things from all over. A tin from her herb stores, a muggle container from her bedside table, a few bits and bobs which all found their way into the bag. Satisfied that she had what she needed, she made her way into the castle. Hermione felt hyperconscious of herself in the public halls of the castle. Yes it was Sunday and few students loitered in the halls of upper floors, but she worried that somehow she would be detained, that she would be sidetracked from her destination. Hermione tried to look casual, as though she was strolling along, but she wasn't sure how good her acting was.

At last the first staircase came into view. She was nearly at the landing, when he fears were confirmed. Someone was shouting at her from behind: "hey Hermione! Wait up!" Recognizing the voice, she slowed and turned to see Ginny dashing to catch up. With a cursory glance around the hallway, Ginny stepped toward her and landed an open-handed slug to the side of her head. "You daft bint!" she hissed.

Hermione raised her empty hand to massage her temple where the unexpected blow hurt most. "What was that for?"

"I'll tell you what it was for. Your stupidity." Ginny nervously looked around again. She didn't seem satisfied that they were alone in the hallways save a few interested looking portraits. A flick of her wand and she cast _muffliato_ around them to conceal their further conversation. "You didn't make the changes to Malfoy's room! You're just damn lucky that I'm still holding onto the map. Trust me, if it had been Harry who had seen your two names on top of each other in the Head Boy's Room earlier today, this is not the reception you would be receiving."

She couldn't help it; Hermione's face became a mask of horror, understanding how badly this might have gone had the map been in other hands. "When I first went to his room, I was more concerned with the fact that he might kill me. The map never made it to my mind."

"What! That rotten ferret. He tried to kill you? As soon as we find open ground, I will make him pay. Until then, it's bat bogies from here to Christmas!"

"Hey hey, back up. He didn't realize it was me at first. I kinda startled him from a dead sleep." Ginny slapped her palm to her own forehead.

"You've gone beyond lovesick. You're mad, absolutely nutters! Wake a death eater from his sleep. Brightest witch of our age my ass."

"I know, I know. So incredibly stupid of me. I told myself a dozen times to send a house elf to wake him, to send something through the floo first."

"Well, no harm done in the end. Harry completely forgot about the map after his hero speech. Not like him, but it was a lucky break."

"Too right, and I'm sorry, Gin, but I've got to go. I have a meeting to get to."

"Sure you do. _Finite incantatem_." Ginny canceled the spell, understanding implicitly what Hermione was saying. After all, she had a number of years sneaking behind her brothers' backs for romantic liaisons. Nothing more needed to be said. The two women mischievously smiled at each other and parted ways.

**SS**

Draco was thrilled with the prospect of Hermione's surprise. She had said that she wanted to do one last thing that was wholly about them, that they might pretend for just a while that the rest of the world and its problems and complications did not exist. Like a child guessing at his Christmas gifts taunting him from beneath the boughs of an evergreen, he rolled her hints around in his mind. Carefully, he shook and manipulated each of them, hoping to reveal some further clue. The seventh floor. In truth, he hadn't spent a lot of time on the seventh floor. It was unnecessary. He'd never had a class up there, and the only two reasons to climb that many stairs was to get to Trelawny's divination classroom (passing through a section of the seventh floor to reach the trapdoor for the tower) and to exercise in the quidditch off season.

He mentally walked through the sections of hallway he remembered. It was just as he'd told Hermione, empty classrooms, closets filled with broken supplies, and a whole lot of dust. Maybe she was going to transform one of the classrooms into something else. She had done a pretty deft job of transfiguring the chairs and the red hanging bag on Friday night. He stopped short at the thought. Had that only been Friday night?

Slumping into the nearest chair, he took stock of his recent memories. When he thought of Hermione, his chest warmed and his thoughts were filled with images of her laughter-filled, crinkling eyes and the soft O her mouth made as he touched the skin on the shell of her ear. Draco forced himself to think back further. Deep into the memories of childhood, he saw her. A tangled, wild mane and teeth too big for her mouth. She was adorable. And he thought about all of the terrible things he had said and done. _That_ word popped into his mind. He wanted to spit it from his mouth, along with all the bitterness he tasted. What did he know about dirty blood? Given Severus's revelation about the Dark Lord being half blood, it seemed blood had absolutely nothing to do with it. Silently, he vowed never to say the word again. Ever.

Some unknown burden lifted from his soul, and he felt somehow lighter inside. He rose from the chair and began to pace, willing himself to turn back to the present. The past was the past, and although he couldn't change what he had done then, he could atone and make good on the time to come. And, it wouldn't just be for himself; it would be for Hermione, and by extension any witch or wizard who just wanted to be part of this world.

Damn. When had he become interested in the well-fare of other people? Since Saturday night when he was worried out of his mind that she had been hurt in the Great Hall. The changes were coming so quickly he wondered how he managed to cope. Perhaps it was best not to think too hard about it. "One thing at a time," he said aloud. That meant beginning his journey to the seventh floor. Following Hermione's instructions, he tossed the floo powder into the fireplace and commanded, "fifth floor!"

He stepped through into an empty hallway. Taking stock of where he was, he began to walk toward the central part of the castle where the staircases were heavily concentrated. All the way, he let his right hand languorously drag along the rough wall. He muttered as he went, "please lead me to Hermione." If he had to depend on the castle, he would let the castle direct him in the way that it wanted to. The phrase came through his lips softly like a mantra, a prayer.


	26. Chapter 26

_A/N Once again a tremendous thanks to the readers who keep hanging on. This has been my most arduous semester of grad school yet, and there's little time or mental space for writing fanon. But, here we are! Consider this a part one for this section of the story. There are a lot of surprises in store for Draco in this and the coming chapters. All intermingled with how our other friends are getting along before classes reconvene Monday morning. So, thank you readers for your support, reviews, favorites, and messages of encouragement. As always: I have no claim to these characters or places and spaces, everything belongs to JKR._

Master Suponificus sat at his usual spot at the long, painted wooden table. The piping cup of tea warmed his hands and the steam curled in elegant swirls around his face. Every so often, he deeply inhaled to take in the fragrant vapor. Rich bergamot imbued his pores as he breathed; it was a lovely moment. Well, for the few seconds it lasted.

Master Tumbertult, a charms master from the 19th century, clomped his chair noisily next to him, fully interrupting his appreciation for the brew. "There you are, Soupy! Always with your face in the cup. Old habits die hard, I guess."

"Hello, Tumbertult," he spit. His voice wrapped in clear disdain. Since Tumbertult's portrait joined the bevy of masters at Hogwarts, the two had been at odds. Ignotus found him to be abrasive and brash, always monopolizing conversation and eating all of the chocolate covered biscuits. Still, he supposed he would have to put up with the annoyance for the short term. It had been some weeks since he had been to tea with the other masters, and they offered a social outlet that was quite different from most of the other ones that was available to a portrait.

Yes, there was the traditional castle gossip, but beyond that it was a haven for intellectual stimulation. Their conversations often ventured toward the theoretical, and it was invigorating to spar with the other masters, adding potions theory and praxis to the debates. Even better were the moments when the talk gave him new ideas. In those moments, he could scarcely excuse himself from the table fast enough before dipping through the portraits to return to his own painted lab.

Unfortunately, it was clear that it was not going to be one of those days. Tumbertult sat there, chewing his scone open-mouthed. Little damp crumbs collected at the corners of his lips with spittle. It was revolting. Losing his appetite for tea, he sat down the cup, the allure of the fine Earl Grey dashed. He looked around, hoping to find a break in the conversation some of the other members were having; it would give him the opportunity to move chairs and distance himself from the vile man.

The three other men cloistered at the opposite end of the table were talking about arithmancy, which held no allure for him. There was nothing for it but to collect his cloak and return to his portrait. Gathering the woolen garment over his left forearm, Ignotus stood, simply waving his departure. "Going so soon, Soupy? We've barely had a chat."

"Yes, well, I've got a potion brewing, and I want to get back to it."

"Rubbish!" shouted Tumbertult. "That's the excuse you always use."

"A Master's work is never done, you know. Besides, I promised a visit with Effie later today, and…" The wizards in the portrait felt rather than heard the fireplace below them rumble, heralding a connection to the floo network. All conversation ceased and the five men stared into the corridor to discover who would step through. Although this fireplace was an open grate on the intrafloo network, it was rarely used as there was little on this floor besides classrooms. Generally, the students didn't have floo access unless by special dispensation.

To their collective surprise, it was clearly a student who immerged from the fireplace. Dressed casually for the weekend, an older boy in black slacks and black turtle neck strode down the hallway. The unmistakable shock of blonde hair made him easily identifiable as Draco Malfoy. Ignotus was instantly grateful that he had already made his excuses to leave. This way he could slip away and do further investigation for Master Snape. They all watched a moment more as Draco veered closer to the right-side wall so he could touch it with his fingertips. "What is that boy doing? Do you think he's ill, leaning on the wall that way?" asked Tumbertult. Before Ignotus could respond, Master Crispin Candescio, Hogwarts's Transfiguration professor for much of the 19th century, beat him to it.

"No you dolt. He's communicating with the castle. The Malfoys have long understood, at least in part, the castle's sentient nature. Why his great grandfather used to wander to halls for hours during my time here." And that was it. Master Candescio, a wizard he had always respected for both his way with teaching and ethics (Hufflepuff house, you know), effectively ended the line of inquiry, set things right, and returned to debate at hand considering the efficacy of arithmancy in the event of an alternative reality, such as those created by a time turner. Tumbertult, sufficiently abashed, sulked into his cup of tea and reached for another scone; his fourth by Ignotus's count. No one noticed as he crept out of frame and made his way through the unseen corridor toward a painting at the other end of the hallway.

He waited under the shaded boughs of a maple tree. This painting was a lush landscape, often in the glorious splendor of a warm spring day. The place was indeterminate, but it was a favored spot to come and read a book quietly or to host a picnic when a bought of "cabin fever" struck. Here he remained until Draco came into sight and passed. Although Ignotus's view of the hallway was limited, it was clear by the direction he chose, that Draco was heading for the cluster of staircases near the center of the castle. Following his instincts, he stepped out of frame again into the strange sensory hall that connected the portraits. Not wanting to draw too much attention, he bypassed portraits for yet another landscape.

This time, he stepped into the tall, straw-colored rushes of the African savannah. A crash of rhinos lingered near a watering hole while a few birds, all different species, alternatively took off from and landed in the water. Satisfied there were no predators nearby, he hunched in the grass and waited again to catch sight of Draco. It was a few minutes before he reached one of the landings. The staircase, clearly in the mood for a laugh, began to shift as Draco reached the halfway point up the steps. Rather than connect with the landing on the opposite side to the sixth floor, as it normally might, it stretched and lengthened, reaching for the little used landing on the seventh instead. This seemed to please Draco, as he gave the stone banister a friendly pat and murmured something. Although his face remained placidly neutral, he quickened pace and practically dashed to the top of the stairs.

Ignotus left Africa and traveled a bit until he found the only portrait still kept on the seventh floor. There was a good reason this particular painting was relegated to the loneliest floor of the castle. The painted background was pleasant enough—an open courtyard that once was present at the southern wall of Hogwarts. The stones were worn and now moss overgrown, and the sunlight lit the area with a pleasing glow. Well, save the conspicuously white space that revealed the canvas underneath. It had been painted long before he became a professor, and the painting's original occupant was an infamous wizard. In his lifetime, Novorick Heartsen was the equivalent of the Dark Lord. Although the records were sparse, what was known was that sometime during the 12th century, Heartsen waged war in the muggle world.

The witch hunts that Europe became famous for didn't gain popularity until the mid 15th century, but the practice was common in places where the new Christian church began to root long before. Places where muggles and wizards lived side by side quickly became battlegrounds as magical people were accused of devil worship and indecent practices against God. Heartsen's village was one such place. As the tale is told, after a long hunting expedition away, he returned only to discover his family home burned to the ground, the bones of his family members piled together where the doorstep once rested. Vowing vengeance, Heartsen began a murderous rampage. Other wizards who had shared his experience joined him, seeking to terrorize muggles in retribution. They were indiscriminant, attacking any muggles they crossed because all were guilty by association.

Hundreds died before the loosely formed magical council, which would join later to become the Ministry of Magic, decided to put an end to the holocaust. Heartsen was captured and was executed without a trial. It was at that point that wizards and witches began to segregate themselves from the world at large. Eventually, the magical community was so well concealed from muggles that their existence became the stuff of legends and story books.

Sometime after the founding of Hogwarts, Salazar Slytherin commissioned a portrait of Heartsen to hang in his private chambers. When Slytherin left Hogwarts, his rooms were emptied. Furniture was redistributed throughout the castle, and his personal effects were sent to the subdungeons for storage. (As an aside, many expeditions have been made to find these items, but none have ever been successful.) The portrait was sent to the main gallery where the rest of the art collection was housed. There were few paintings then and of them just a dozen portraits.

As the rumor goes, after years of listening to Heartsen's unrelenting diatribes about muggles, the other portraits joined together to silence him forever. It's unknown how they managed to do the dastardly deed, but in the dark of the night, they erased Novorick Heartsen from his portrait. They stripped him away to bare canvas, making sure that no magical signature remained. As a matter of self-protection and unity, they made a magical oath to each other never to reveal the circumstances of Heartsen's erasure. Ignotus understood there were few people in the castle who knew which portraits had participated in the act. There were always suspicions, those paintings that showed their age by their materials or the magic that made them work. But, there were never any confirmations.

It was at the very periphery of this painting that Ignotus lingered. This infamous courtyard with its white, blank splotch in the center. When new portraits joined the castle community, they were dared to travel to this place. It had become an initiation and a scary story. Passed from portrait to portrait, it was a warning that there were rules among the paintings of Hogwarts.

An unexpected chill went through him as he waited for Draco's arrival. The hallway was quite vast, and there was a good possibility that he would only catch a glimpse of the young man. In one direction he saw what looked like the endless corridor. At the other end, the hall reach a T junction, a blank wall staring back the other direction. He didn't want to remain in the painting any longer than necessary. Despite the pleasant sunshine, it felt like a cursed place, and the call of the hidden passage to the next nearest painting—which belonged to a past Herbology professor tending some rather active tentacula plants—was strong.

Much to his surprise, it wasn't Draco Malfoy who crossed his path, but the Head Girl. Now it made sense. Of course they would try to rendezvous in secret, and what better place than the virtually abandoned seventh floor? Trelawney's trap door was at the opposite end of the corridor, so they were assured a certain amount of privacy here. He watched as Miss Granger approached the bare wall. She lifted a tentative hand and stroked the stones. Her hand dropped back to her side and she bowed her head, as though in prayer. It was more than a minute that she stood in this position before she turned and walked a few steps to the right. Turning on heel, she walked double the distance the opposite direction.

Ignotus watched as she repeated her steps three times, pacing in front of the wall. He started to wonder if he should return to his rooms and alert Severus. While he understood why Draco had trailed his fingers along the castle on his journey, this seemed something different altogether. Just as he made the decision to return to the dungeons, he heard the telltale shifting of stone and mortar. Where there had only been a clean expanse of wall, a door appeared. As Miss Granger opened the door, she looked both pleased and relieved. Before she stepped through, her eyes swept the hallway, looking for Draco no doubt. When she saw that he had not arrived, she closed the door behind her, which promptly began to fade away.

The door was completely gone when Draco came down the hallway. He couldn't help but wonder how they would get to each other. After his many years living within the castle's walls, he understood how wonderful and rare the magic was that held the masonry together. And, it was quite amazing that the castle still had secrets to reveal and keep at will. Why only last week he discovered a hidden swimming pool on the fourth floor in what he thought was an unused classroom.

Draco approached the junction and looked left then right for signs of Miss Granger. He must have decided that the spot didn't offer the vantage he needed and so stepped more fully into the center of the space. As he did so, the wall shifted again and the door once more became visible. Clearly he was surprised by this development as he stumbled back a step. He recovered quickly, but still seemed hesitant as he approached the door and knocked three times. No sooner had he lowered his right hand and lifted his left, which gripped his wand, than the door flew open to reveal Miss Granger. "Welcome home!" she exclaimed with clear joy in her features. Draco was summarily drug inside, and Ignotus fled the memory of Novorick Heartsen.

**SS**

Draco was completely bewildered by what had just happened. A second ago, he was standing in the seventh floor hallway at Hogwarts. Then, out of nowhere, a door appeared and he was pulled into something he can't even name. It _looks _like a home, but there's something decidedly off about it. Hermione was clutching his arm and bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet; she couldn't keep still. "Where are we?" He figured it was best to start with the basics.

"Technically, this is the Room of Requirement, or the Come and Go Room. I first read about it in _Hogwarts, a History_, but I never had much success finding it. My understanding is that the room presents itself to a person when they're in need of something. The book says it's usually found by accident."

"But this wasn't an accident." He still felt very confused.

"Well, most people don't read _Hogwarts, a History_, so I guess that a lot people discover this room when aimlessly wandering the castle or when they're lost. I mean, imagine you were on your way to class, a staircase changed, and you ended up here. Then, as you were walking through the hallway, you felt that you desperately needed the loo. The room might appear to you as a functioning bathroom, or it might just be filled with chamber pots. The castle has quite a sense of humor."

He took a moment to look around; this was definitely not a bathroom. He felt like he was standing in the foyer to a home. The walls were covered with a hideous floral print wallpaper and to his left was a monstrous piece of oak furniture that seemed to have an identity crisis. It looked like part coat rack, part vanity, and part chair. The floors were wooden, but there was a strange kind of rug that appeared to be made out of fabric leftovers. "So where are we?"

"I wanted to find a way to show you how muggles really live, show you that they aren't so different from wizards. This is the house I grew up in. Well, the castle's best replica of it at any rate. It's actually really amazing how perfect it is." She led him from the entryway down a small, cramped feeling hallway. He looked over his shoulder to seek out the doorway. There was a door, but it was a large red one with two small windows at the top. Long shafts of sunlight formed squares on the weird rug.

He quickly pulled his arm away from Hermione's grip. He wasn't sure what kind of expression his face was making, but her face showed both confusion and fear. Mentally he shook himself and smoothed his face into something more positive. "I appreciate the gesture. I really do, but this feels overwhelming and disconcerting." Honesty was no doubt the best policy. Hermione took a deep breath, lowered her head, and closed her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I should've known better. It's too soon for this. We can go." Without looking at him, she squeaked past him and made for the door. Before she could reach it, he arrested her movement by trapping her in his arms. Holding her from behind, he took a deep breath and filled his lungs with her scent.

"It's not too soon," he whispered in her right ear. "Can we just take this slowly? I need more time to process what I'm seeing, more time to ask questions."

"I'm such a dope." She turned in his arms and rubbed her face back and forth against his chest. "I was so excited that this actually worked, and that it really does feel like my home." Patting her back as she muttered indistinguishable words to herself, Draco continued to look around. He reminded himself that no matter where he felt he might be, he was inside of Hogwarts, safe. The thought soothed some of his anxiety.

The thin hallway was also covered in the ugly wallpaper. It occurred to him that he probably shouldn't disparage the house, furnishings, or much else for that matter. It wasn't Hermione's fault that she grew up poor and muggle. As he made the mental note, he saw for the first time the frames that dotted the walls. None of them matched and they were all different sizes. Every frame held a picture of Hermione. In the one closest to him, she was quite young, maybe five, or six. Shuffling their bodies a bit so he could get a closer look, Draco stared into the face of the child-Hermione. She was smiling wide mouthed at the camera, her large, white teeth exposed in the great grin. Her hair was a bushy halo surrounding her head, which topped a hideous pink and purple jumper. He willed the picture to move as wizarding photos did, but Hermione remained still. "When was this taken?"

She snuffled her face against his chest before turning around to look at the picture. "Year one of grammar school; I was six." He felt pleased that he could recognize her age in the picture. "That was the year before my dad made me wear a retainer."

"What's a retainer?" Hermione pointed to the next photo. She was noticeably older; her hair was longer and if possible, even bushier. But the standout part of the photo was her smile. Her teeth were covered with some kind of metal wire. He couldn't help it; for the first time, he dropped his arms and stepped closer to the photo. Just a nose length away from the glass, Draco scrutinized the instrument. "I'm sorry, but that looks absolutely barbaric."

Mercifully, Hermione laughed. "You're right, it is. Truthfully, you get used to it after a while. It's really the social problems that come of it that are the worst."

"I don't understand. What is it for? I get that it does something for your teeth, but what?"

"It's supposed to help your gums and bones reshape so that your teeth align better with braces or dental surgery. I was too young for braces at that point, and by the time I had lost all of my baby teeth I was at Hogwarts. Thanks to you, Madame Pomfrey did everything with magic that my dad would have done with wires and screws. Secretly, I was always grateful that I had gotten out of braces."

"You're welcome, I guess." The memory was filled with mixed emotions. Now, he felt terrible that he had unwittingly hit Hermione with the hex. But at the time, he had been more concerned with cutting Potter down to size. The badges had been his idea, though it was Pansy who actually worked out the correct charms to make them work. As the memory finished in his mind, he cringed as he remembered Severus's dismissal. "I see no difference."

"I'm sorry that Severus was cruel; he had to maintain his cover. He couldn't have shown you any sympathy, because we would've known something was wrong."

"At the time it was pretty horrible. I cried all the way to the infirmary. It took Madame Pomfrey days to shrink my teeth."

"Well they're beautiful now," and he turned back toward her, placing his hands on either side of her face. His left thumb brushed corner of her lips. Her smile revealed just a hint of her teeth and he couldn't wait another second to kiss her. When their lips touched, he forgot all about the past and thought only about a future where they could do that all the time, whenever they wanted.

With some reluctance, Draco pulled back and asked, "Show me the rest?" They moved down the hallway at a slow pace as he stopped to look intently at every photo, cataloguing all the changes Hermione's face had gone through from one year to the next. After her first year at Hogwarts, all the photos changed from single portraits to family portraits. She and her parents were dressed in reds and greens and the unmoving backgrounds were filled with strange, unnatural trees and giant wrapped gifts. Hermione explained: "Because we don't do school photos, my mum and dad thought it would be good if we all sat together for pictures. Christmas vacation was always the best time to do it."

There were no photos of him like this at the manor. When he entered Hogwarts, they sat for a photo. In pureblood tradition, they didn't smile. No, they stared into the lens of the magical camera and one at a time, raised an eyebrow. They didn't have to smile and flail around like commoners. They were dignified. Hermione's parents wore large, happy smiles that reached their eyes; it looked genuine. His mind went to his mother, somewhere concealed in the world, who had never sided with him in front of his father, but had always come to his side after the shouting and the punishment had ended. She came to him and always whispered that she was sorry, but it was just the way of things. In his heart of hearts, he knew that Hermione's mother or father had never treated her that way. His whole life, all of his friends, that was the way of it. But, it didn't have to be.

They were at the end of the hallway now, a doorway heralding the opening to a new room. And, it was a room unlike any he'd ever seen. Painted a cheery yellow, it held all manner of strange instruments. "This is our kitchen and dining room. Go ahead and take a look around." Again, he reminded himself he was inside Hogwarts, but he felt as though he had just landed on a foreign planet. Slowly, he moved to the left of the door and began to examine the things on and against the wall. Behind him he heard the scrape of a chair's legs and assumed that Hermione had sat down at the round oak table that took up most of the floor space on the right side of the room.

"When I came to the room, I requested that everything in the house work as it would in the muggle world. Don't be afraid to twiddle any knobs or push any buttons." It was so strange. Not only because he had never been in a muggle kitchen before, but because he couldn't remember what the kitchen at the manor looked like. Now that he thought about it, Draco wasn't sure that he had ever been down to the kitchen. He knew approximately where it was, but there had never been any need to go there. The house elves saw to anything food related, from breakfast to a midnight snack. If he was anywhere on the grounds, he could call for a house elf and have anything he wanted.

Then something that was fairly disturbing came to mind. What if he needed to eat something and there were no house elves? Rather than inspect the strange box in front of him, he turned and slumped into the chair next to Hermione. "Are you ok?" She reached a hand across the cool wooden surface to touch his own. "This might sound like a stupid question, but how do you cook food?" She looked thoroughly confused.

"I'm not sure what you mean. Are you thinking of a specific food you like?"

"No, no. It's just that standing here, I realized that I had never been into the kitchen in the manor. I know where it is, but I've never been in it. The house elves have always done everything. It's the same at Hogwarts."

"Okay, that is weird." She took a second, chewing on her lip as she thought about something. "But it makes sense. Food preparation would be beneath you. Why make yourself a sandwich when you can have someone else go do it?" He was shocked by her statements and it showed. "Hey, hey, what I mean is that people who have privilege, like you, don't often have to do a lot of hard, hands-on work. It's not good or bad, it just is. And, although the Weasley boys know exactly where and how their food is made at The Burrow, not one of them could replicate it. Ginny on the other hand is bullied into the kitchen every time she's at home."

"What about you? Are you bullied into the kitchen?"

"Sometimes. It's really common for girls to be taught or at least encouraged to cook. Don't get me wrong, it's absolutely useful stuff to be able to make a few things from scratch, but in a lot of ways it's supposed to be grooming for married life. There's an expectation that a woman can cook for her husband family."

"My mother doesn't cook."

"She might not actually do it, but I'll bet you a galleon that she knows how."

"I'd like to take that bet, but I don't even know where she is to ask. When we went to the manor for the meeting, a house elf told me that she wasn't on the grounds, that she was safe somewhere else." She squeezed his hand.

"But that's a good thing, right? I know you're worried, but it's better that she's not in the house. Hey, how about a cuppa?" She didn't wait for his answer. Rising from her chair, she went over to one of the strange contraptions and lifted something from it. "This is a kettle. It's used to boil water, mostly for tea. See this flap?" Hermione pressed on a lever and the covering for the spout flipped open. "When it's closed and the water boils, it'll produce a little whistle with the steam." She turned on heel and walked two steps to the left. Filling the vessel with the tap over the sink, he could hear the water splash inside. She retraced her steps and replaced the kettle to its former perch.

"This is a gas stovetop. Sometimes it's called a range or a hob. Muggles use it specifically for cooking food." He watched as she turned a dial just a quarter turn and then pressed a button. Three quick clicking noises and flame erupted under the kettle. She adjusted the height of the flame with the dial. "It's the same premise as using a Bunsen burner under a cauldron." Her face lit up into a big smile. "In fact it's exactly the same. Draco, you're one of the most advanced brewers at Hogwarts. You do know how to cook, you just didn't know it!"

"Come again?"

"Cooking is exactly like making a potion. You start with a list of ingredients. Then, there are instructions about how to prepare them to achieve a particular result." She darted across the room to a small three shelf book case nestled in the corner. She reached for a booked and seemed to delighted to find it completely in tact as she swiftly flipped through the pages. "Look!" Returning to her seat, she sidled closer to show him the text. "Each recipe starts with ingredients. Then it tells you how hot you need your stove or oven. Then it tells how to prepare and when to add each ingredient. Then it tells you how long to leave it for and what it should look like when it turns out. Just like making a potion."

He studied the book. The page revealed the recipe for shepherd's pie. It was definitely something he was familiar with, but the ingredients were odd. "Where do you get ground lamb? Do you slaughter the lamb yourself like when harvesting other ingredients, or do you buy it prepared?"

"I supposed you could slaughter a lamb, but it'd be awful messy, and then you'd have to figure out how to portion it and grind it. Most people buy it already ground up in pound measurements. Usually from a butcher or grocery store."

"And what about the rest of these things? I know what the veg is of course, but where does that come from? Do you keep greenhouses?"

"A lot of muggles do garden or keep greenhouses, although many use allotments—patches they rent or own outside of their yard—because there isn't a lot of ground space in cities. But, most buy them from grocers because they can't or don't know how to grow their own." He was feeling more confused by the minute.

"And what is Worcestershire sauce?" At that moment, the kettle began to scream, filling the room with an ear splitting siren call. Hermione was out of her chair in seconds, turning off the fire and opening the flap. Mercifully the noise stopped. As the kettle sat silently on trivet, she opened the nearest cabinet and pulled down a tea pot. It was as ugly as anything he'd ever seen.

As though she was reading his thoughts she said: "This teapot is so ugly. I've been begging my mum for years to send it to the charity shop. I've even bought her other ones as incentive, but with no luck. She says it was one of the first things she and dad were given as a couple. Who would give newlyweds a puke green teapot? Not exactly appetizing." The teapot rested on the counter as she scurried away for a moment to a bag he hadn't noticed before resting by the doorway. She retrieved two tins and returned to the counter. "I figured the room would have to obey Gamp's Law and there wouldn't be any food, so I came prepared."

He didn't hear her explanation. Draco was totally transfixed as she went through the steps to brew the tea. First she poured a little of the freshly boiled water into the cold teapot. Carefully, she swirled the water around and around until she seemed satisfied, pouring the water away. Then, opening the smaller tin, she spooned two tablespoons of tea into the pot. And finally, the water just off the boil poured from the spout into the prepared teapot. When it was full, Hermione replaced the lid and opened a drawer that had been directly in front of her waist. She fitted the pot with a blue knitted cozy and brought it to the table, along with a coaster. It was a minute more when she returned with two mugs, two bread plates, two tea spoons, and the second tin, which turned out to be full of cookies. "I made; you pour."

He didn't even bother to object. Instead he quietly reached for curved handle and poured the two mugs full. As he did so, Hermione had reached into her bag to retrieve a little clay pot. When she took off the lid and sat it aside, sparkling sugar cubes were revealed. Draco plucked one lump for himself while Hermione did the same. They stirred their sweetened tea, both counter-clockwise, and waited a moment for it to cool. "Severus is the only one I've ever seen make tea like this. He insists it's the best quality."

"He's absolutely right. The stuff the kitchens make will do in a pinch, but I prefer to drink freshly brewed whenever possible." A few more silent minutes, only the clinking sounds of the spoons, and it was ready. The tea was still hot, but not unpleasantly so as it filled his mouth. Just the right amount of sweet to boost the flavor of the deep, black tea. He sighed after he swallowed and his eyes drifted closed as the pleasant warm feeling moved through his throat into his chest and stomach.

"I know it's cliché, but I really feel that even the worst things don't seem so bad when there's a warm, comforting cup of tea to be had," she said.

"You might just be right about that."


	27. Chapter 27

_A/N Thank you to the readers and reviewers who continue to keep up with this story. It's been a wickedly full fall and Christmas break. One filled with many ups and downs. This story continues to brew in the back of my mind, and I feel that once we get through this section (the rest of their Sunday) and onto the next (Monday when classes are resumed), things will progress much more quickly. Again, I appreciate your messages, reviews, and kind words. HAPPY NEW YEAR!_

_As usual, everything belongs to JKR, I'm just stretching my fan legs._

The glowing tip of Luna's wand cast a halo of light just a few feet in front of her. In three strides she was well inside the room, and Ron followed her more closely than her own shadow. "So much for the glockels," he thought as he cast a wary eye around the dusty room, trying to make out any recognizable features. Two more steps and the wand-light touched the edges of something that glinted in the dark. His breath caught as he recognized the distinctive S curve of the harp.

Luna moved closer to it, illuminating it more fully. The harp glowed eerily in the artificial light, muted by the layers of dust caked to the gilt frame. The strings were equally as coated, little peaks of dust in neat rows yawned the length of the instrument. The thing was mute now, but he could swear he could _hear_ it playing. How could he forget the sweet music that had faded, leaving him with such a feeling of peace, only to be jarred to the reality and danger of the situation with long, ropey strands of slobber cascading down the side of his face and shirt? It was a nightmare.

She didn't linger over the harp, but moved closer to the center of the room and revealed the once guarded trap door. The floor around it was stained, undoubtedly from Fluffy's drool. "Let's open it!" Her voice was excited, as though the trap door offered the promise of some great adventure. His memory emphatically disagreed, thinking of the Devil's Snare sleeping beneath the floorboards. That same plant that had nearly choked the life from him, well, until Hermione saved him.

Hermione.

He did his best not to think about her, but being in such close quarters at Hogwarts, that was often not an option. Every time he saw her, the anger appeared suddenly, violently and all he could feel was the pain and humiliation of their breakup. Her words from the hallway rocketed through his mind: "That's your problem, Ronald. You always want to just get to the point. But as I'm sure you'll remember, when you rush off to the point things tend to happen _prematurely_." Where did she get off?

Totally consumed by his thoughts, he failed to notice that Luna was forging ahead with her plans to open the trap door. Her wand now lay on the floor next to her left side as she manually twisted the latch and heaved the cumbersome lid. Dropping to his knees to wrestled away her grip and close the door for good, a cloud of dust erupted from the spot, filling his mouth and nose with a disgusting grit. Ron fell back on his bum and started a sneezing fit that felt like it would go on forever. Incapacitated by the fit, Luna made headway and wrenched the trapdoor open.

Within seconds, a muddy green, gnarled vine slithered up through the opening and stretched across the floor. Luna seemed entranced by the plant as it snaked its path. It moved slowly, as though feeling its way along, seeking something. It traveled about two feet to the right of them and changed direction, heading back toward where they sat. Ron barely got himself under control when he realized what was happening. Without thinking, he grabbed Luna by the collar and yanked her back; her hands immediately flew to her neck where the fabric had gathered tightly. Her wand pushed further aside by her knee as it marked its trail through the grime.

Sensing the quick movement, the creeper darted across the floor and found its target. It twisted itself around her ankles, forming a figure eight as it locked its hold onto her body. He tried, the gods help him, he tried to hang onto her. He moved his grip from her neck and circled his arms under her armpits and around her shoulders. Years of Quidditch had made him strong and tough, and his upper body was used to physical strain. But the plant was too strong, and as it drug her toward the dark hole in the floor, he went with her. With nothing to grab for or gain purchase with, there was no choice. If he reached for his wand, he would let her go and lose her to the plant. Holding fast to her, Ron knew that they would likely hit the undulating ball of tentacles and roots the thing had grown these last seven years and there wouldn't be time for him to reach for a wand then.

He resisted as long as possible, using his heels to slow their progress. But eventually, there was no more floor. Just the gaping hole. And then they were falling. He held close to Luna, wrapping his arms around her waist. They twisted the short distance to the jagged plant-bed so that he landed first. As predicted, the vines and coils took less than a second to commence their assault, and he quickly found tendrils twirling around his calves and biceps. From nowhere, Luna's ethereal, floaty voice broke through the frictous sounds of the plant kneading together. It was strong and clear, but a little detached. "Lumos Solem!"

A torch of blue firelight erupted from the end of her wand, which he hadn't seen her snag on their way across the floor. Immediately, the tightening vines loosened their hold and receded away from the flames as far as they could get. The familiar sensation of falling returned, and Ron found himself making hard contact with the stone floor below a mass of snarled, thick stalks. Luna landed beside him with a thud, her wand still pointed toward the plant. Déjà vu had never been one of his favorite feelings, but this was getting ridiculous. "Bloody hell!" he shouted, more from frustration than anything. This was not how he wanted to spend his Sunday.

Luna appeared satisfied that they were out of imminent danger and released the spell. The holes they had fallen through closed as the light dissipated, and it tucked itself up away from the floor as though avoiding a second bout of light. "Shall we move along?"

"Are you mad? I do not want to move along. I want to go back to Gryffindor tower and be as far away from this place as I possibly can."

"Oh, well in that case, you may want to try the astronomy tower instead. It would be further."

"Great. I'll take that under advisement. Now, how the hell do I get out of here?"

"That's what I just asked. We must move ahead to go back." She was up and moving now, down the corridor that lead to the heavy wooden door. He knew what was beyond that barrier. A thousand keys zipping through the air, all waiting to chase them like a swarm of bees. He didn't want to follow her, but he really had no choice now. It wasn't as though he could go back through the Devil's Snare.

Grudgingly, his feet moved one ahead of the other until he and Luna were at the door. In his memory, he could see Harry and Hermione on either side of him, both eleven years old and wands, which were still a touch too big for their hands, raised high. Now he drew his wand, just the right fit for him, and waited. And it was then that he noticed how quiet everything was. Too quiet.

"Alohomora!" Luna's voice rang through the hallway, and he heard the lock click open. She nudged the door, once again lighting the tip of her wand to brighten the room. Here, a flaming pedestal lit, like the ones in the third floor corridor. No wonder it had been so quiet. It was clear that Professor Flitwick's charm had been discontinued as there were now a thousand keys littered throughout the room. The weird buzzing noise he remembered was silent, and it was strangely disconcerting to see so many of the keys' wings twisted and broken either from their arduous flights or from crashing to the ground. The wings were crumpled, misshapen, and it contrasted to the rigor mortis bodies they were attached to. The battered broom was propped next to the doorway on the other side of the room. The same door with the large, old-fashioned lock that needed its old-fashioned mate in order to open. A moment more of looking at the keys and remembering how they had fiercely chased Harry's broom throughout the room, and Ron began to feel morose about the whole thing. Luna, however, had other ideas.

"Well, this is certainly convenient. We don't have to fuss with chasing the key. And, how fortunate, it's still in the lock." True to her word, the key was jammed in the lock; its wings truly the worse for the wear, caught at least twice and hastily thrust into the catch. Luna flitted across the floor, avoiding the discarded keys with every step, and alighted in front of the door. She beckoned to Ron with her free hand, and he reluctantly followed in her footsteps, also avoiding the keys. Soon enough he was next to her.

"You know what's through here?" she asked. How could he forget? It had been the most thrilling and terrifying moment of his life. Fluffy, the Devil's Snare, the swarming keys, they all were a distant memory when he first clapped eyes on the larger-than-life chess set. There were so few things that set him apart in the family. With so many older brothers, there was a lot of well-trodden ground. Everyone had played Quidditch. The twins had their inventions and practical jokes. Charlie loved animals and was always bringing home some creature or another. Bill was smart as a whip, and Percy was the perfectionist. What was left to do?

He was six when he found his dad's old chess set under a pile of old moth-eaten blankets in a closet. No one wanted to play with him, at least not until his dad came home from the Ministry and found him banging the pieces together on the living room floor. It sounded cliché, almost ridiculous really, but there had been something magical about learning each of the pieces and their moves. At six, it was hard for him to comprehend, but his dad had great patience with him. Although, he never let him cheat. When he turned seven, he was given a (hand-me-down) set all his own. The pieces had already seen better days with cracks that wouldn't fully heal and nicks and chips where tiny bits of porcelain weren't recovered. It didn't matter. He loved it.

In the coming years, no one wanted to play with him. Only now it was because he was good enough that he won most of the time. Bill and Charlie were away from home by then and Fred and George had each other. Ginny was still his icky little sister, so she wasn't good enough to play with him. What a relief it had been to come to Hogwarts and get a whole new set of people to play against. He garnered a reputation early on as quite the strategist. Dean and Seamus challenged him to match after match hoping to redeem themselves from all their losses.

"You open this one." Luna's voice broke the spell and the memories faded away. He knew what was on the other side. The giant, hulking pieces he had once commanded. Then something occurred to him. If Professor Flitwick's charm had faded, it was possible that Professor McGonagall's transfigured pieces had done the same. And, not only that, but there wasn't the same sense of urgency now as there had been in that moment. Harry had practically flown off the broom as he triumphantly held the struggling key in his hand. They were through the door in a flash, the thousand keys following them and thundering against the wood as they escaped to the next challenge.

When he saw what it was they were facing, part of him rejoiced. This was something he knew! But, while he was competitive and hated to lose, the stakes were never so high. Not only did they need to play, but they also needed to win. He relished the chance to prove himself and help Harry go on, but it was still daunting. None of that mattered now. He was standing there with Loony Lovegood seven years later. What did he have to lose?

One good push and the door clicked open. It wasn't even locked. That strong sense of déjà vu returned. The players were assembled, standing tall in their respective places, waiting for commands. This time, every spot was filled by a figure, including the horsebacks. As before, littered beside the checkered expanse of the playing field there were the destroyed pieces of prior battles. He recognized some of them and a chill went down his back. Luna grabbed his hand and pulled him forward until they stood next to square e4. "Hello there!" she shouted, as if the pieces were actual people. "Are you available to play?"

The room was silent but for their breathing, and the hammering of his heart. When the White King lifted his sword high, Ron thought he might actually choke on the lump that had formed in his throat. "Oh excellent! Ron would you like to play as white or black? Perhaps black for nostalgia's sake?" Dumbly he nodded his head. What had he just agreed to? Luna skipped further along the side of the board and came to rest next to the King's side Rook. He watched Luna bounce up and down on the balls of her feet, and he wondered where her boundless energy came from.

"Ouch!" Something sharp poked at his right leg. Spinning around, he caught the closest pawn retract its sword and return to its resting position. Ron rubbed his hamstring to soothe the sting and walked back to the corner square. "Alright, alright. Impatient." His own chess set was similar, getting fussy when they didn't get to play often. He surveyed the board and devised his strategy.

On principle, he didn't go easy on any opponent. He considered for a moment to make an exception with Luna, but quickly talked himself out of that. It was easy to forget that she was a Ravenclaw. "Pawn, please move to b4," said Luna. The piece obeyed and scraped across the floor to its new square. And so it began.

**SS**

It was hours later when he finally conceded defeat. They were both down to a handful of pieces. A Pawn each, their opposing Bishops, their Queens and Kings. He had one Knight still in play while Luna had a Rook. In the end, there was nothing for it. She had brilliantly maneuvered him into check-mate by anticipating his strategy. Every time he thought he had a leg-up, she politely told her pieces where to go and forced him to change his tactics. It was rare that he played so defensively, and through every move, Luna maintained her odd, creepy, serenity—even when she was "viciously" attacking his pieces.

"Well, that was a lot of fun. We should do it again sometime. But right now, I'm feeling a little peckish. What about you?" His stomach growled in response. He was more than peckish; he was downright famished.

"Starving. But how do we get out of here?"

"Oh that's easy enough. Excuse me," she said to no one in particular, looking up toward the ceiling as she did so. "Could we have the aid of a house elf, please?"

No sooner were the words out of her mouth, than the distinctive popping noise rang through the room. "How can I help?" A little elf in brown breeches appeared in front of Luna. Ron noticed there was something unusual about the little creature. He had never seen a house elf in a pair of pants before. Not that he had seen many to begin with, but he knew that many of them wore a knotted pillowcase rather than proper clothes. Also, in most of experiences with Dobby, house elves always made a lot of fuss about serving, cowering while they did so, before getting their instructions. This elf had a no-nonsense air about, well, was it a him? He wasn't sure.

"Effie!" Luna's voice was joyful as she clearly recognized the (girl) elf. "Thank you so very much for coming. Would you be so kind and take us back to the main hall? I'm afraid that Professor Snape's potions have been removed, so we can't use the last one to return us to the third floor."

"Of course I will," responded the elf. "But don't make a habit of calling me. I have work to do, you know."

"Absolutely. We're grateful for you help now."

"Alright then." Luna stretched to clasp her hand with Effie's. Although he understood what was happening, Ron felt a little dumbstruck by the whole scenario. Not only had Luna carried on a conversation with the elf, but Effie spoke perfectly good English. No stammering and definitely no cowering. "Well, are you coming along, or shall I leave you here?" The threat of being left in the subdungeons of Hogwarts with no ostensible way out was enough to get his feet moving.

The second his hand made contact with hers, they blinked out of the chess chamber and were standing next to the doorway to the Great Hall. The split-second _apparition_ disoriented him, but he could hear Luna thanking Effie and then felt a tug on his arm. She guided him to one of the long tables, indicating they should sit down. He noticed that they were now seated at what was usually the Hufflepuff table. On weekends, it was common for the students to sit at different tables. It was more casual and many students from all the houses, well almost all of them, got along just fine. Open seating gave everyone a chance to mingle, especially since their classes were often segregated to just one other house.

"I hope the elves serve spaghetti bolognaise for lunch. It's my favorite." The thought of lunch brought him back to the moment. And, after looking all around the room to make sure he was exactly where he believe he was, Ron turned to Luna and asked: "Did we really just play Wizards' chess in the subdungeons?"

"Of course. It was quite an adventure to get there, but the game was worth it." Her smile was warm and knowing, as though she always recognized that playing chess was always going to be the point of retracing the steps to the third floor. Food began to appear in front of them. Luna squeaked with joy as a tray of spaghetti appeared near her. She took a healthy portion for herself and then offered the tray to Ron. Some slices of garlic bread appeared on a silver platter just down-table from him, and he snatched two pieces with his free left hand. He hadn't been thinking when he tossed a piece to Luna, as though she was Harry or Seamus. It didn't phase her though. She just reached up and caught it, adding it to the side of her plate while she twirled a forkful of pasta.

After a few minutes chewing and swallowing, Ron swished his mouth with pumpkin juice and turned back to Luna. She had a drop of sauce on the apple of her cheek. He wasn't sure why, but he felt compelled to wipe it away. Finding a clean serviette under his plate, he carefully reached up and gently rubbed the spot where the red stain was. Unexpectedly, Luna leaned into his touch and her eyelids drifted closed. He felt embarrassed but didn't know why. "You play really well. Who taught you?"

She came back to the moment and looked at him bright eyed. "My dad. He likes to say that it's useful to the keep the mind occupied with logic so the imagination has room to grow. Chess was my introduction to logic."

"I can see that. My dad taught me, too. Although I don't think there was any intended lesson in it. I found his old set and that was it." It suddenly occurred to him that this was the first personal thing he knew about her. Many people just steered clear of her because she was "weird." Unsurprising given her nickname. Of the things he did know about her, most of them came through Harry or group conversations. He never would've pegged her as a chess player, let alone a good one. He wondered what else she could do.

"How are you at exploding snap? We usually get a wicked game going in the common room on Sunday nights. A bunch of us put our decks together to make a megadeck."

"I'm good. Although, I haven't played much since I singed my fringe building a card house." Ron's jaw fell open.

"No way. That happened to me, too! Well, not my fringe obviously, but my eyebrows."

"I know I could've just used regular cards, but there was something more fun, more dangerous, about using snap cards. You know?"

"Exactly!" The lunch plates cleared and desserts began to pop up in their places.

"Ooh, pudding! I love pudding," and with no hesitation, she grabbed for a treacle tart in front of her, stuffing it into her mouth. Three chews and she had the massive bite down. "Want one?" she offered.

"Of course," he replied, taking one from the pile. The pair merrily ate their tarts, and Ron couldn't help but think this was the beginning of something really special.


	28. Chapter 28

_A/N: Hi everyone. I know it's been a ridiculous amount of time since an update. I'm so very sorry about that. I'm still working on my dissertation to complete my PhD and it takes up most of my brain space. And, it's in a totally different fictive universe, so sometimes it's hard to switch gears back to the wizarding world. I continue to fervently promise that I will see this story through. And I thank each of you who have messaged me, favorited the story, and keep checking in. You're all lovely!_

_All recognizable characters and places belong to JK Rowling; I'm just stretching my creative legs._

From the end of Chapter 25: _Harry took Padma's hand and followed her down the corridor_.

Harry found himself in a new part of the castle. Padma had dragged him further away from the Gryffindor common room, and now he was unsure of where they were. They had climbed stairs and turned corners until everything was familiarly unfamiliar. Same stone floors and wall sconces, but the rugs had changed, the portraits were different, and he was feeling totally lost. It was unnerving that a place so usually comforting could quickly become so alien.

Eventually Padma pulled him toward a doorway. A large bronze statue of an eagle with its wing protectively curled around a kind of crown flanked one side of the arch. They went through and entered into a large, circular room filled with overstuffed chairs and desks. The décor was a mixture of dark woods with navy and bronze fabrics; the settee covered in a white fluffy blanket looked particularly comfortable. The walls were covered in book cases, filled to bursting. If he was being given a first tour of Hogwarts, Harry would've assumed they were in the library. "What is this place?" he asked as she pulled him to a plush chair near a large, white marble fireplace containing a roaring mass of flames.

"It's one of our house study lounges. We have a number of them located in the castle. This way you're always guaranteed a place to go to study, debate, or write when the library or common room won't do. It's a perk of being a Ravenclaw. If you had tried to come in without me, the eagle at the door would've barred your entrance."

"Hermione should've been a Ravenclaw. She would've loved to have a place like this to go to. The Gryffindor common room is only good for studying the week of exams. You know, when everyone is cramming."

"But the Sorting Hat put her into Gryffindor. As we know, the hat chooses according to the characteristics that we feel most strongly."

"If that was true I would have been in Slytherin." The very thought made his stomach turn. Harry couldn't prevent his face from scrunching with disgust. Padma barked a sharp laugh.

"That distasteful, eh?" She said no more, waiting for him to explain. He thought for a moment and wondered just how much he should reveal to her. How much could he confide in her? After all, they didn't know each other particularly well, and it didn't seem fair to burden her with things that he had been withholding from Ron and Hermione. Some things he had been privately living with for years rather than share them with his two best friends.

"In for a penny, in for a pound," thought Harry as he prepared to let Padma Patil in. "I told the Sorting Hat, 'Not Slytherin,' while I was being sorted. The hat was clear that I would've excelled there, but my first meeting with Malfoy on the train was still fresh in my mind. He was arrogant, even at 11, and he made fun of the first person I had really spoken to. Everything about him reminded me of my cousin, Dudley, and I didn't want to be a part of anything that resembled him."

She smiled kindly, nodding her head in understanding. "You notice I said '_we_ feel most strongly.' The hat does a kind of arithmetic, weighing the factors of the houses against each other, but ultimately it's a student's desire that dictates where she or he goes."

"Dumbledore told me that a few years ago. I never wanted to acknowledge that any part of me would have done well in Slytherin House, especially after things started to happen." He needn't elaborate; their exploits concerning Voldemort were common knowledge, and whether accurate accounts or half-truths everyone knew that he had faced unspeakable things from the time he came to Hogwarts. "I never wanted even a remote chance to be anything like _him_."

"But you are, aren't you?" Her question both frightened and angered him. Harry jumped from his seat and began pacing in front of the fireplace like a caged animal, staring intently at her and willing Padma to burst into flames. Fortunately, he had yet to command wandless magic, so she was perfectly safe.

"I am Nothing like Voldemort. I don't murder people because of their blood lineage. I don't control other people and put them up to doing horrible things. I don't intend to take over the entire wizarding world." His cheeks flamed, and the color intensified when Padma huffed and rolled her eyes.

"Of course that's not what I meant. You're both orphans who grew up in less than ideal conditions. You were shipped to Hogwarts with no wizarding contacts except Dumbledore. Although you both appear to have a select group of friends, you have loner tendencies, meaning you're willing to put others aside for your own intentions. And, perhaps most importantly, you're both angry for the lot in life you were dealt. He didn't ask to be a penniless, half-blood who was betrayed by his family, and you didn't ask to be The-Boy-Who-Lived. It's obvious you're very much alike."

"How do you know all that?" Her audacity made him stop pacing and circle behind the settee that was facing the chair that he had been sitting in. It gave him a sense of distance and a direct path to the door to escape. Padma's list of comparisons was spot on, and it was unnerving considering she had brought up things most people didn't know.

"What? Do you think Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs are oblivious to the politics within and outside of the castle because we're not members of the feuding parties? Everything I just said is all available in the library; it's just that many people choose not to look. And don't get all hot-headed with me, Harry Potter, just because I said some things that you didn't like." She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a stern look, her eyes boring into his.

They stayed like that for more than a minute, staring at each other. Harry was trying hard to hang onto the anger, but as the seconds passed he found the weight of it hung heavy around him like a wooden yoke. Eventually he rounded the edge of the sofa and collapsed in a heap. He wasn't sure how much more he could take. The fight with Hermione, the dressing down by Dumbledore, the spiel in the common room. He was so tired.

"This might surprise you," began Padma, "but I know what it's like to be lonely." He wearily raised his head to look at her, wondering where she was going with this. "My sister and I are the only two Indians in the castle. Although we grew up in Wizarding London, our parents were immigrants to the community. We've always been treated differently because of that, despite the fact that our heritage is ancient in tradition."

"Look, Padma, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but it's not the same."

"I never said that it was. It's clear that you've isolated yourself from the people you care about, that for your own reasons you've emotionally withdrawn yourself. It's a lonely pursuit. I also understand loneliness."

"Oh." It was the only thing he could say. How was it that she had so easily pinpointed his secrets? They barely saw each other outside of the bustling hallways and meals in the Great Hall. He wasn't even sure they'd had a conversation this long before. Yet, somehow, she got right to the heart of things.

"Harry," she said softly. "I know the last thing you want to talk about is the war, but did it ever occur to you that the prophecy gives you all the information you need to defeat Voldemort?" Again he was reeling. How did she know about the prophecy? At this point it seemed irrelevant to ask. Instead, his facial features formed the question.

"And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..." Padma repeated the words expertly, and a shiver traveled the length of his spine. _Neither can live while the other survives_. That phrase haunted him. And in his selfish heart of hearts, he didn't want to be the one to die. He knew Voldemort's triumph would mean the end of wizarding life as people knew it, but more than that, he was afraid to die.

But that was not what Padma was referring to. "Notice that it says, 'he will have power the Dark Lord knows not.' Think about all the things you have the he doesn't."

"You're not making any sense; he has more resources, especially when you consider his hold over the Ministry. I don't have anything that can equal him."

Now Padma became frustrated. She huffed again and resettled her body in her seat, scooting to the edge of the plush chair and leaning forward. "You're thinking too literally. Voldemort has no friends. No, he has minions. Pawns that he strategically commands and controls that are offered up as sacrifices when it suits him. He's never known love or loyalty."

"But my mother's love was what protected me at first. When he came back in the graveyard, he used my blood to make his new body. It doesn't work anymore." He looked forlorn, and curled in on himself placing his head in his hands. The sound of material ruffling alerted him that Padma moved, and he felt the cushion depress next to him.

The heat of her body was surprising. Although it had been pleasantly warm in the room with the crackling fire, somehow the heat from her body soothed him from the inside. Her smooth fingers stroked the back of his right hand. "Harry, think of all the people who love you now. Maybe it was your mother's sacrifice that saved you as an infant, but now it's the people you've built relationships with since coming to Hogwarts who will protect you." Quickly, he lifted his head, turning to her to begin arguing. He didn't want other people to protect him! Or perhaps more correctly, he didn't want people to get hurt in the name of protecting him.

Padma anticipated his reaction and raised her hand in the universal Stop sign. "I understand that you don't want people to get hurt on your account. But the power you have is the love and friendship that's grown between you and Ron, Hermione, the other Weasleys, your house members, Dumbledore, and even other students you may not know so well. We wouldn't go to war with you because we want more power or money or fame; we would go because we feel it's the right thing to do, and because we know you as someone more than The-Boy-Who-Lived. Voldemort can't say that about any of his followers."

When Harry returned to the common room after his dressing down with Dumbledore, he felt acutely ashamed for the way he had been behaving. So after he spent a few minutes in the bathroom putting on a glamour to freshen and uplift his appearance, he asked Ron and Seamus to get everyone together. Ten minutes later when he was satisfied there were enough ears present, he set to work apologizing for his crap attitude and for shirking his duties to the Light. Most of his friends had smiled and nodded enthusiastically, letting him know they were with him. When his glance found Ginny, she was wearing a disgruntled smirk. She mouthed "Tosser" when their eyes connected and went back to the book in her lap.

Wrapping up his impromptu speech, many of his housemates cheered and thanked him for stepping up. It was Ginny's reaction he couldn't stop thinking about and retreated to his room, removing the glamour when he was sure he was alone. His mood soured as he sat on the bed. He meant everything he had said, yet it all felt disingenuous. He wanted so much to live up to their expectations, but there was a bigger part of him that agreed with Ginny. He was just faking it.  
"I'm not smart enough or good enough to do this. I can't face him and win." There. He'd said it out loud finally. He was nothing but a phony.

"Of course you can't, and only a fool would think otherwise! Don't you see, Harry? That's what gives you the advantage. You've got all these people behind you offering their knowledge and skills and time to support you. And they're willing to help you without expecting anything in return."

And then like a lightening bolt out of the sky, he understood. In one great jolt the epiphany rocketed through his mind. Standing and facing Padma, he said, "I've got to be a willing sacrifice. If Voldemort is to be defeated, I've got to be willing to die to save the people I love. Just like my mum." The very thing that paralyzed him with fear was the thing that just might be the answer.

"That's a plausible interpretation," Padma replied. She considered him for a moment before continuing. "If we assume that's true—that you'll need to willingly die for people you love as a matter of protection—then the thing to do is strengthen that love. You've been pulling away and isolating yourself for a while, now would be the time to make amends and tell your friends how important they are."

Without thinking, he reached for her and pulled her from the sofa and into a fierce hug. Before she had a chance to reciprocate, he grasped her forearms and pushed her an arm's length away. "Padma, you're a genius!" She couldn't help but giggle at his enthusiasm.

"Yes, I am. But I don't think you needed a genius to help with this. You just needed to talk to someone."

"All this time I've been doing exactly the wrong thing. I thought that by keeping Ron and Hermione out I was protecting them, bearing my own burden. But that's just what friendship is about, isn't it? Helping each other when things feel overwhelming or difficult."

"By Jove, I think he's got it! I think he's got it!" Her words came out in a sing-songy way he had not expected and shot her a questioning glance. "My mum has a thing for muggle musicals. It's from a movie called _My Fair Lady_. It's a moment where a character finally, after much practice, is able to understand the lesson she's been taught."

"It sounds familiar, but I didn't get a chance to see many movies when I was with the Dursleys. I didn't really go anywhere with them at all, especially after the time I accidentally freed a snake while we were at the zoo."

"I'm guessing that was before Hogwarts?"

"Yeah, just a few months before I got my letter. My uncle was not too thrilled about it."

"Isn't it funny how people are usually afraid of things they can't understand? Your uncle doesn't know anything about the magical world or how it works in witches and wizards, so it's something scary. Voldemort doesn't know anything about kindness or love so he tries to eradicate it."

"You might have something there." Their conversation had come to a natural pause and Harry was wondering about the next step. He needed to fix things with Ron and Hermione. When he had seen Hermione at the Headmaster's office, he had apologized, but it wasn't quite genuine. It was likely she was still mad at him. How had he managed to screw things up so badly? "Padma I don't know how to thank you. I guess I have a lot of work to do if I'm going to mend these fences."

"Of course. I guess it's a little like Arithmancy. You can't get the best formula until you have all the information. You couldn't see the answer until…"

"Hermione!" he shouted, effectively cutting off Padma's explanation. "She had been trying to tell us something about Arithmancy on Friday before McGonagall's class. Something important about the war. But you know, Ron, he lost his temper and they got into a row. I've got to go find her!" He felt the urgency of his latest epiphany and released Padma to make his way to the door. He was half-way across the room before something else dawned on him.

"Padma, I'm so sorry. I just got caught up. Would you come with me to find Hermione? I don't always understand what she's talking about. Maybe you'll understand her better than I do. It would be great to have your help."

"I would be glad to, Harry, but it is nearing lunchtime. Perhaps we can start in the Great Hall? She might be there and it would do no good to traipse the halls of Hogwarts on an empty stomach."

"Agreed. Please, lead the way." He bowed low extending his arm toward the door. It had also occurred to him that he had no idea where they were in the castle at the minute. She grinned at his gesture.

"Why thank you, kind sir, I shall."

**SS**

Once they reached more familiar territory, it wasn't a difficult task to get to the Great Hall. Students were dotted throughout the large meeting room, all houses mixed together. The shock of Ron's orange hair was easy to spot, but he seemed to be eating happily next to Luna. They exchanged easy smiles as they twirled their spaghetti. Just as Harry made to go over toward the Hufflepuff table, Padma placed a hand on his forearm. He raised an eyebrow in question and received only a smile in return. She tugged his arm once and led him to the Gryffindor table where her sister Parvati was already seated. Fortunately, Lavender was nowhere to be seen as she had a tendency to monopolize conversation.

"May we join you?" Harry asked courteously before they took their seats on the bench across from Parvati.

"Of course," she replied, tucking into a thick slab of heavily buttered bread. "The garlic bread is really good today. Nice and crusty."

"You would say that," said Padma. "What I wouldn't give for some of mum's aloo gobi and fresh naan. The food is good, but it's not like hers."

"Well the winter holiday isn't too far off. You can eat your fill then. In the meantime, just stop complaining." And on they went, back and forth like a ping pong ball. He hadn't really been able to observe their banter before. At the Yule Ball the four of them had been so miserable that they barely said a few sentences between them. It was only during the dance when Parvati verbally repeated the counts for the steps they were supposed to take that she spoke at length. He shuddered at the memory, his thoughts immediately forced forward to the tournament.

A sharp pain poked at his side, and he found Padma ribbing him with her elbow. "Are you planning to eat something or just sit there and sulk?"

"And what if I plan to sulk?"

"I've got a potion for that, but immediately I've got a nice spell that would effectively force-feed you. Sound appetizing?" She batted her lashes and gave him a cheeky smile.

"Alright, alright. I surrender." And he grabbed a plate and filled it with a heaping mound of spaghetti and two, very crusty pieces of bread. As he captured the slippery pasta with his fork, he started to plan. Since Ron, and Luna for that matter, was just across the room, he would start there, apologizing for being such a prat and asking him to hang out in the evening so he could tell him everything. Then he would find Hermione. She usually spent her Sundays studying, but she didn't often stay in her room; there was a spot in the library she favored, although he never did manage to find it. His best bet was to find Ginny and retrieve the Marauder's Map.


	29. Chapter 29

_A/N Again, a tremendous thanks to readers who keep favoriting and commenting and sending messages. This chapter is dedicated to Chelsey. "You can't go home again."_

_As the usual disclaimer, everything belongs to JK Rowling; I'm just stretching my creative legs._

From the end of Chapter 26: "I know it's cliché, but I really feel that even the worst things don't seem so bad when there's a warm, comforting cup of tea to be had," she said.

"You might just be right about that."

The tea was soothing and warm as it made its way down Draco's throat to the reservoir in his belly. Sitting with Hermione in this strange space was beginning to feel almost natural, and he wondered what other things could be that way. They were quiet, both lost in contemplation as they sipped their tea and nibbled the cookies. He was intrigued by the idea of cooking, especially because she had made such a convincing case that it was like potions. After all, most potions were ingested, and he didn't think twice about tasting something he had made in a cauldron. And, potions weren't usually supposed to taste pleasant, although Hermione's contraception potion was clearly an exception to the rule. He recalled the faint echo of caramel on the back of his tongue. Unbidden, a smile twisted onto his lips.

She smiled in return, though her eyes were narrowed. "Why the cheeky grin?"

"Oh, nothing really, just thinking about the contraception potion you brewed." She had not anticipated his answer and flushed red, her cheeks darkening as the seconds passed. Quickly, her teeth captured her lower lip and she seemed to contemplate something for a moment. When she turned her eyes back to him, they were half-lidded and clouding with lust. Instantly he was on the same page. "Follow me," she whispered and rose from her seat. Without looking at him to make sure he was in fact following her, she left the kitchen through a different door on the far wall. It swung inward and outward once before Draco was through the doorway.

He didn't spare a glance or thought to the strange objects and decorations as he passed through what was likely the lounge. A large fireplace took up most of one wall, yet all of the furniture was focused around a strange black box. It didn't matter. Hermione was turning a corner and climbing a set of stairs that were covered in thick beige carpets. The stairs lead to a small hallway, not dissimilar to the one they had first walked through. There were photographs dotted along the left wall, though these appeared to be more candid than the posed photos downstairs. He didn't bother to stop to scrutinize them.

Hermione had extended her left hand behind her, and he quickly reached his own to clasp them together. A second more and she stopped in front of a door, the second to last in the hall. Snugging himself against the back of her body, Draco gently took her other hand and wrapped their arms around her torso. She seemed to debate a moment. A soft sigh parted her lips. "This is my room," she whispered.

She had never had anyone in her bedroom, well besides her mum and dad and the odd cousin. Now standing there, she wasn't sure how she felt about being in the room with Draco. When he had given her that sexy, sneaky smirk at the kitchen table, it felt like a great idea to lead him into her little single bed and tear his clothes from his body. The door was the last barrier and she found she lost her nerve. It wasn't her bedroom, not really, but somehow it was as good as. Her bedroom represented her life before Hogwarts. She had known she was different, that she could do things other children couldn't do, but this room was that part of her that had remained fully human—muggle—in ways her adolescent-self had not.

In that thought, she changed her mind about her intentions. "I've never brought anyone to my room before. Like the rest of the house, I want you to see it so you can see me. See that I'm not that different from you." She wriggled her fingers that were knitted with his. Understanding the sign, Draco loosened his hold so she could turn the doorknob. Slowly, she guided the door open and they shuffled into the room together as though they were one body. Her hand immediately found the light switch on the righthand wall and flicked on the light. The central hanging light illuminated the room in a soft golden glow.

The room was an exacting replica. It was truly incredible that the castle could produce something so painstakingly accurate only from Hermione's memories and desires. Every book, picture, and figurine was precisely where she knew it should be. The wallpaper was the exact shades of mushroom brown and dusky pink, and the matching pink carpet was worn in the short paths she had traveled thousands of times from the door to the bed and from the bed to the bookshelf or windowseat.

She felt Draco move away from her body, instantly missing the warmth of him on her back. He coughed into the back of his left wrist. "It's, mmm, pinker than I would've guessed." And the tension was gone. The tension that had been slowly growing in her heart since she climbed the stairs. She was taking a risk, revealing this part of herself in such a way. There was still a part of her, despite everything they had experienced in the last few days, that waited for the moment he would turn on her and it would all be exposed as a cruel joke.

"I didn't get a lot of say in the decoration. My parents picked the colors when I was born." Carefully, he began to systematically examine the contents of the room, beginning on the left side. "What if you wanted something different?" he asked.

"I'm pretty sure they'd let me paint it. Wallpaper is kind of a hassle. We tried to do the dining room about five years ago and I remember it was kind of a nightmare. Every time my dad would rip a piece of the paper he would say, 'we'll just save that piece for the bit over the door!' In the end, they hired a professional."

Draco was standing in front of the closet. He gestured to the door. "May I?"

"Of course," Hermione simply replied. When he opened the closet, he cautiously peered inside. Confused, he began to feel the walls of the closet. "Is this it?" he asked with clear disbelief in his voice.

"What do you mean? It's a closet, not a sitting room?"

"This is _all_ the space you have for your clothes? This is hardly any room at all!" She giggled. Draco was clearly exasperated by the size of her closet; it was not the reaction she had expected.

"Most older muggle homes don't have much closet space. The houses were built smaller because people lived with far less stuff than we do today. Besides, I shrink and store a lot of my things that I don't need regularly."

His face was scrunched in a mixture of confusion and determination and he nodded sharply to indicate that he understood. Turning back to the closet once again, this time he let his hand drift over each of the garments that hung there. An old winter coat, a Weasley wool sweater that was far too small for her now, a tea dress she had worn for Sunday church. Draco's hand hovered and stopped on a garment she had quite forgotten was among the contents. It was a periwinkle color, light but rich, and the material was gauzy, floaty in a way. Carefully, he reached for the hangers that were closest to the gown and pushed them aside to reveal her dress robes from the Yule Ball. "I saw you," he whispered, "when you came down the stairs on the arm of Krum." He fingered the delicate fabric and stepped closer to it, inhaling deeply. "I forgot myself for a minute, thinking how beautiful you were. Pansy caught me staring and elbowed me in the ribs, reminding me that you were still a…" The word died before it could reach his vocal chords.

It only took two steps to reach him and she slipped into the doorway of the tiny closet, wrapping her arms around his waist. He returned the gesture. "That probably should've been my first clue as to how I really felt about you." His head came to rest atop hers.

"We couldn't have known then. We were both too caught up in the politics. House rivalries, blood rivalries. At that age, I don't think we would've been able to get past those."

"You're probably right. In the end you had to seduce me," he quipped.

"If I recall correctly, it didn't take a whole lot of seduction. Once I took my clothes off, you were pretty much done for." She didn't wait for him to respond. The desire that had flared so suddenly while they were in the kitchen returned at the memories of their time in the Prefect's Bathroom. Shifting her body, Hermione captured his cheeks in her hands and drew his head to hers.

The kiss was commanding and she hungrily pressed her lips against his. Draco's hands found purchase on her arse and he tugged her closer to him. She briefly felt the outline of his erection press against her hip before they lost footing and stumbled fully into the confined, cramped closet. Although the clothes hanging from the rack largely muffled their fall, they nonetheless ended up in heap on the floor with a few loose items littering the space.

It was a miracle neither of them was hurt considering the untidy pile they had landed in, but as soon as the shock of the moment ebbed, they began to laugh. When Hermione felt her laughter begin to subside and quiet, she would look at Draco and they would start again. It was several long minutes before they calmed sufficiently and began to stiffly extricate themselves from the carpeted floor. She was first to crawl out of the closet, and rather than stand she elected to prop herself against the bed with her elbows resting on her knees. Facing her and mimicking her position, Draco took her hands and squeezed them. "I don't know the last time I laughed like that; it feels good to laugh."

"I know what you mean."

"I don't know if you do." He paused, and stared at their hands for a few seconds before continuing. "Hermione, I spent six years watching you and your friends at classes and at meals laughing with each other. You made funny faces at each other and smiled together. Can you remember seeing me, or many of the other Slytherins for that matter, do the same?" She closed her eyes and thought for a minute. She pulled forward all the memories she could of lunches and dinners in the Great Hall where she had faced the Slytherin table. Younger versions of Draco sat sneering or scoffing with Crabbe and Goyle, sometimes Zabini and Parkinson, too. In the halls, in the Quidditch stands, in the classrooms, they were murmuring to each other or shouting at other students. They weren't sharing happy or kind smiles and their laughter wasn't joyful, no it was derisive.

She felt her eyes ache as they began to fill with tears and she opened them to look at a cloudy Draco who was still holding her hands. "I don't get to laugh like this," he said. "We've been taught that laughter is about weakness and frivolity. The warmth and the joy you feel with your friends is actually pretty foreign to me. And with my parents? Forget it. And until you came along, I didn't know I was actually missing anything." Draco positioned his legs outside of hers and pressed her knees, guiding her legs flat to the floor. Then, he scooched himself forward.

When his thumbs stroked the apples of her cheeks, it was then she realized that her tears had brimmed over. The dampness was quickly absorbed by their skin as he gently massaged her face. A life without laughter. It was a painful, sobering thought. The feeling welling inside of her wasn't pity exactly, but something akin that made her heart ache and her breath catch. She didn't have the right words to tell him how sorry she was that he had missed out on that, on all those little happy moments, so she leaned forward to kiss him. Quite the opposite to the last kiss she instigated, this one was soft and tentative. Maybe she couldn't understand, but she could show him that she cared. She could try to communicate how much she wanted to help him discover how wonderful laughter could be.

Trailing small, open-mouthed kisses down the right side of his neck, she found a patch of skin (not too far from where she had placed her first love bite on his body) where her lips could make a seal. She sucked in a great big breath through her nose, clenched her body around him so he couldn't move, and then forced the air through her mouth. The room was filled with the wet, obnoxious noises of her lips vibrating against his neck. Draco tried to scrabble away from her, but her arms were locked tightly around his chest and her legs were now circled around his back making her grip that much tighter. The sound continued, changing pitch as he squirmed against her body.

When she ran out of breath, she released his neck and his hand immediately flew to the spot to wipe the slobber away. His expression was somewhere between disgust and amusement. Clearly no one had ever done that to him before. She laughed. He wiped his wet hand on her sleeve, chuckling along with her. Quickly her hugged her closely and said, "Hermione Granger, you're a miracle."

She didn't know what to say, so she hugged him back and hummed in contentment against his chest. The microcosm of her bedroom looked differently from that angle as she peered into the room from the vantage of Draco's chest near the floor. Hardly any traces of her life in the Wizarding World were evident. The odd robe in the closet and a magical book here and there on the shelf were just about the only things that might give her magical life away. Although no one outside of her parents went into her room, they agreed that it would be safer and easier if there were few indicators that she was anything but muggle. If a visiting friend or neighbor opened her door rather than the bathroom door and saw banners for Hogwarts and Gryffindor House, they might wonder what it was all about. Her parents usually told people she was away at a prestigious boarding school and that was it.

There were even fewer signs that she had grown into a woman. There were age appropriate clothes in the closet, but few things had changed to indicate a teenage girl lived in the room. No posters of hunky rockstars or actors. No fashionable or trendy bedding or other kitschy accents. No, it looked very much as it had when she was 11. "What does your room look like at the manor?" she asked, shifting back to look at Draco's face.

"Different from this definitely. It's a lot bigger. If I'm honest, my closet is about the size of this room. The carpet is dark blue and the wallpaper is blue and gold. It's actually more like our Prefect Suits with a sitting room, bedroom, and bathroom. I never had to share a bathroom until I moved into Slytherin House as a first year. That was odd I can tell you." He smiled good-naturedly at her.

"I'll bet it was."

"But now that I think about it, if you walked into my room, you would probably assume it was a gust room. There isn't any of me in there. Maybe the odd book and a photo or two on a bedside table, but that's it. In this room, you're everywhere. Granted it's a much younger you, but you're here."

"It's strange how Hogwarts feels so much more like home than our actual homes."

Suddenly Draco's face became serious and his eyes bored into hers. "When we're finished at Hogwarts and we live through this damn war, we're going to get a place of our own. Just for the two of us." She felt stunned. It had barely been a weekend but Draco was adamantly claiming they would live together. They hadn't talked about the future; they hadn't even really talked about surviving the inevitable battle, but the ardor of his statement was clear. They would have a home together, a place where they could laugh and just be themselves. Just Hermione and Draco.

"Absolutely." The word barely left her mouth as Draco's crashed into her. This time the desire that flooded them both would not be interrupted as he reached for the hem of her shirt. She obliged, raising her arms high so he could pull the garment from her body with little trouble. When the skin of her bare torso rubbed against the cotton of his shirt she moaned, needing to feel his skin against her own. She didn't bother to wait for him to lift his arms and halfway through the process of removing the shirt, Draco's head and shoulder were caught.

Hermione suddenly decided this could work to her advantage and with his temporary blindness deftly moved her body so she was facing his stomach. The muscles rippled as he fought with the shirt and her lips found purchase on the soft skin just above his right hipbone. Again, she drew in a deep breath and forced the air against his body. Draco began to fight more intensely with the shirt, losing it just before she ran out of air. She attacked a second time; this time finding a spot just under his ribcage. As the sloppy farting noises echoed through the room, his laughter overwhelmed the sound and his body shook with tremors.

When she was breathless, he forcefully drug her the length of his chest, almost painfully kissing her. "My turn," he gasped as his tongue began his assault on her mouth. Too lost in the sensations to think about his words, she retaliated in kind and dueled with him, looking to gain the upper hand. His hands trailed up and down her back tenderly and then stopped just by her armpits. It was there that his fingertips dug into the flesh and wiggled back and forth against the bones that were just below the layers of skin, fat, and muscle. She shrieked when he found the right spot and struggled to escape the cage of his arms quite forgetting their lingual combat. "Two can play this game," he hissed. And his mouth dove for her neck where he began to suckle, intent on marking her as she had marked him.

He was too strong to fight against, so she changed tactics and snaked her right hand between their bodies. It took just a second to find the straining fabric that indicated his erection trapped beneath and she gently caressed its length several times before giving his cock a gentle squeeze. A wet pop sounded as his mouth detached from her neck followed by a soft groan. "Got your attention, did I?" she cooed. They silently agreed that the time for foreplay was over.

She stood, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra and discard it to the worn carpet. As she began to tug her yoga pants the length of her legs, he rose to his knees and took over the job. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other so he could remove her shoes and pull them free of her body. She wore no panties. This seemed to please Draco, and he leaned forward to place a gentle kiss in the soft thatch of hair on her mons.

It was less than a step before the backs of her thighs touched the bed. As she sat and scooted more fully into the center, feeling the fluffy duvet beneath her skin, she opened her arms to him. He rose slowly from the floor sparing just a moment to toe off his shoes and socks before turning his attention to his trousers. They pooled around his feet and he climbed onto the bed, stretching against her side. Their touches were gentle and caring, and she shivered as his fingertips cascaded along the expanse of her back. After a few minutes of kissing and touching, Hermione was ready for more.

Reaching out her right hand, she guided his left the length of her torso, past her breast, and dipped his fingertips into the crevice between her thighs. The side of his nail skimmed her clit and she yelped at the unexpected contact. Draco worriedly questioned her with his eyes, but she rubbed her nose to his in reassurance that she was okay. Flattening their hands, she swirled gentle circles over her vulva, feeling the slight rough spots and scars that marked his fingers. The callous where the pommel of his wand rested most often gave that little bit of extra friction that made her involuntarily buck her hips to meet their hands.

When she applied pressure to their middle fingers and dipped them both inside her moist vagina, the sound that escaped her body was somewhere between a breathy moan and guttural animalistic yowl. With her eyes scrunched tightly closed, she felt him run the pad of his finger over the soft, slippery tissue just inside her body. She jerked forward, seeking _more_, but his fingers refused to go deeper and no amount of coaxing and pushing for her own hand seemed to help her case. Now he had taken the initiative and removed his hand entirely, forging a wet, glistening trail on her soft skin.

Hermione's eyelids cracked open just enough for her to see his lash-obscured face and the soft smile twisted on his lips. She smelled rather than saw his hand nestled between them, the one that had just returned from touching her in the most sensual and delicious of ways. Opening her eyes further, she made direct contact with Draco and never waivering from staring at him, reached for his hand. The distinct smell of _her_ became more pronounced, and she enjoyed watching his eyes unmistakably widen as she brought his hand to her mouth, laving his long middle finger with her tongue. The taste was familiar, sweet and musky like a freshly brewed cup of tea.

"Oh, gods," he roughly swore as she released the digit with a muffled pop. Clearly, this was as much as he could bear and still lying on their sides facing each other, he shifted her right leg to rest over the top of his left hip drawing them closer. Catching on immediately, she shuffled her posture just a little higher than his and watched intently as he firmly grasped his hard cock and positioned it against her opening. Slowly, carefully, she eased down, allowing her body to envelop him one centimeter at a time. His breath hitched; she sighed as they eventually were completely connected.

Intently they stared at each other, and she had a sudden thought how wonderfully strange it was that she and Draco Malfoy should be having sex in her not-quite-her-childhood-bed. And moreso, that she was happy. The feeling of his body surrounding her, enfolding her, inside of her, was as comforting as it was arousing. She couldn't imagine that there would be much else in her life that would feel so incredible. It had never felt like this with Ron, never the sense of ease when they had been intimate. If she had needed a clearer sign that some things were better left to history, this was it. He was it.

Draco nestled Hermione closely against him in the little twin bed. A bed meant for a child and not a grown woman. Not that he really had any comparison. After he had outgrown his cot, he had moved into the bed in the nursery which was probably twice the size of this one. And, he had only been a toddler. But a big bed was cold and lonely much of the time. Although he had complained about the shared dormitory in Slytherin house and the significantly smaller bed, he'd quickly determined that it was much cozier than the giant one in his suit.

She was napping in his arms and he periodically kissed her brow. He felt her body begin to shiver and searched the room with his eyes for a blanket that might be close at hand. They hadn't bothered to get under the covers so those were pinned beneath their bodies. In an effort to keep her warm, he rubbed her arms and gathered her more closely to him. He could hardly remember a time when he felt more peaceful. Even with the weight of the war bearing down on them and the likelihood that neither of them would survive as Harry Potter's best friend and minion to the Dark Lord himself, he felt content. He was happy to just relax in the moment.

While he did his best to help keep her warm, he couldn't ignore the chilled prickle on his back and bum. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but soon enough he felt no other option but to wake Hermione. He began by nuzzling her cheeks and gently blowing in her ear. She tossed a bit but did not wake, so he stepped up his ministrations and began gently tickling her ribs. That was enough for her to come to as she sat up and looked around a little disoriented. When she twisted back around to look at him she smiled. "Hey," he said. "I'm sorry to wake you, but we were both a little cold."

"That's okay. I don't want to sleep the day away." She tucked her arms around her chest and covered her breasts. "It is a little nippy, isn't it?" She made to climb over him to get out of the bed, but he captured her in his arms and pulled her back down.

"You're beautiful," he murmured in her ear. She giggled; it was rapidly becoming his most favorite sound in the world.

"So are you," she replied, kissing him on the cheek. "Come on, let's get dressed. There's more I want to show you." This time he relinquished his hold and she clambered over him, not too gracefully and started picking up her discarded clothing. He followed her lead, finding his boxers and trousers still in a puddle by the bedside.

As he put his clothes back on, his wand slipped from the pocket of his trousers. Once dressed, he reached to pick it up from the carpet. He held the wand in his hand, it slipping into its usual position with the pommel resting comfortably near the heel of his hand. "Hermione, I want to try something." She looked confused, but nodded her head. She didn't ask any questions; she didn't look mistrusting. Instead, she stepped back to give him space in the little room.

He closed his eyes and let the feelings begin to fill him from the tips of his toes, the length of his legs, through his torso and down through the long ropey muscles of his arms. Draco could feel his magic responding to him, hearing his unspoken will and gathering strength inside of him. It was a familiar feeling, one he had known since childhood. Now he added his memories to the mix. Walking the grounds of Malfoy Manor with his grandmother. The Sorting Hat shouting out Slytherin and the triumphant walk to the house table. Severus's encouragement in the potions classroom. And more recently, the sound of Hermione's laugh. The intensity of her gaze while they made love. The feeling of her skin against his. The overwhelming desire to get to her when he'd heard of her duel in the Great Hall. He let it all filter through every cell.

"_Expecto Patronum_!"

His eyes were closed, but he felt the magic swirl and twist through his body and channel into his wand. Unlike his earlier attempts, he couldn't sense any blockage or backfiring. Slowly he opened his eyes to see a filmy blue light emanating from the wand's tip. Determined, he went through more of his happy memories, mostly the recent ones of Hermione, insisting the misty light took shape. And it did.

It coiled onto itself, tightening into a ball first then lengthening into an oval. Arms and legs and a tail sprouted as the animal began to emerge. Maintaining his focus was difficult, but he was set on producing a proper patronus. It would be essential for communicating with Severus and other Order members. It would be a way to stay connected to Hermione even when they couldn't be together. Finally, the shape of the animal was clear.

He dropped his wand in shock and the patronus quickly dissipated. "It's a bloody ferret!"


	30. Chapter 30

_A/N This turn around was epically fast for me. I had meant the end of the last chapter to be a bit of a cliffie, but it turns out most of you took me at my word. So, here we are. Thanks again to the great support you're continuing to give me. As usual, everything of note belong to JK Rowling; I'm just unblocking my chi._

She watched as the wispy blue-grey smoke began to form into something more cohesive, something more animal. As the arms and legs sprouted, she assumed it was a land mammal, but it might've been anything. When the tail lengthened from the back of its body, her heart leapt to her throat. Hermione had read a number of texts about patronuses when Harry was first being coached by Remus. Some scholars theorized that lovers or people with intensely close bonds would produce animals that were heterosexual mates in the real world. Harry's parents were a clear corroboration of the theory as their animals were a doe and stag. Watching the new patronus take shape, she wondered if it would confirm the thing that she refused to acknowledge in her mind: they were bonded. And not just bonded, but something deep, almost soul-changing was happening between them. Not to them, but between.

But it didn't look like her otter. It was smaller, more muscular in its construction. It resembled something fox-like in the face, except its ears were small, rounded, and clipped closely to its head. The body was compact, but the tail was long and a little fluffy. Just as the form solidified Draco shouted, "It's a bloody ferret!" dropping his wand. It took just a second for the patronus to disappear. He backed away from the spot, leaving his wand on the floor. When his legs hit the side of the bed, he collapsed in a heap. "Can you believe it?" he asked exasperatedly. "I can't fucking believe it."

"Hey, hey, before you get your knickers in a twist, I don't believe it's a ferret." Hermione moved to sit next to him on the bed and offer him comfort. His face had begun to turn red and his eyes were glistening.

"You don't?" he snuffled.

"No. My cousins had ferrets, and they didn't look like that at all. They were longer and skinnier and their faces looked like little bears' faces. Yours was something different."

"You think?" a bit of hope breaking through his thickening voice.

"Yes, I really think. Do you think you could do it again?" Resting against the left side of his body, she rubbed circles on his knee with her right hand. He took a number of deep breaths and closed his eyes; he was mentally rebuilding himself, drawing the positive energy and strength her needed to make the charm work.

Without speaking, Draco rose from the bed, retrieved his wand, and further centered himself. The magical energy in the room amped tenfold as he drew on his magical stores to make another corporeal patronus. Eyes closed, he said the words softly but clearly, "_Expecto Patronum_!" Again the vapor escaped his wand and began to twist and curl on itself as it sought its true form. She couldn't help but feel a little put out that he seemed to master the charm so quickly. It had taken her months before her otter had come forward, and that was in the safety of the girls' dormitory practicing with Ginny.

But no matter, the little creature again appeared and she took the chance to scrutinize it, unsure of how long he could hold the charm in place. No, it was definitely not a ferret. It didn't even look like it came from the same family. It wasn't a rodent-y looking as a ferret. More like a merecat, but again that face was all wrong for that animal. Chancing a quick look at Draco, she found his eyes were open and he too was studying the animal. "It's not a ferret," he said breathlessly, relieved that his provoked transfiguration would not haunt him in his magical guardian. "But what is it?"

Something suddenly changed in the room. The lights dimmed and a gust that came from nowhere swept through the space, exiting through the doorway with such force that the door closed behind it. The clap made by the slamming door was enough to make her jump, but she maintained her focus and quickly pulled her wand which had been stashed in the waistband of her yoga pants. Her mind raced, trying to understand exactly what was happening. They were inside of Hogwarts; surely the castle, like the Headmaster, professors, and house elves, was there to protect them. Looking around, the colors seemed to drain from everything in the room. The once pink and brown wallpaper turned grey.

As the changes crept through the room, Draco's magic held firmly in place. The little creature was now facing away from them standing on its back legs and sniffing the air. Periodically, it would return to all fours, sniff the imaginary ground it was standing on, and then resume its "scout" position, watching the rest of the room. This went on for two or more minutes and when she was about to suggest they make a hasty retreat, she heard the sound. There was no mistaking that hiss. No mistaking the fast escape of air that slipped through a mouth concealing sharp teeth and a forked tongue.

Slithering out of the floor vent under the window was a snake. All black with white speckles dotting its back, it slowly made its way out of its hiding place and into the room. A simple spell would disintegrate that thing, but she held back, wondering what the purpose was in having it there. When it was fully stretched out on the carpeted floor, it was at least a meter long. Draco stepped back slightly to put distance between himself and the snake, and as he did so the point of his wand shifted, moving the animal guardian a fraction lower to the ground. It spotted the snake and began to dance from side to side. The snake's attention was immediately drawn and it reared up on its belly, standing tall to face down the perceived threat. It stood still, waiting and watching as the spry mammal scampered back and forth.

Soon enough the patronus feinted close enough that the snake lunged forward in an attack. The animal danced just out of the way and then circled to draw its ire again. They repeated these steps several times until at last, Draco's patronus grabbed the scaled serpent just behind the head and bit down. The articulated body immediately curled on itself forming tight loops, writhing as the patronus's teeth gnashed through the flesh. A minute more and the snake had gone limp, its head nearly severed from the body. Draco's guardian returned to stand before him. It perched on its back legs and used its front paws to clean its muzzle. The animal looked… pleased.

Again, the energy in the room shifted. The lights brightened, the color returned, and the mangled corpse on the carpet disappeared without a trace. As things filtered back to normal, Draco whispered, "_finite_" and lowered his wand. She moved toward him, taking his free hand in hers. "It's a mongoose," she rasped. "Your patronus is a mongoose. The cobra killer."

"I've never seen anything like that before." Confused and a little shaken, he turned to her and she led him from the room, back down the hallway, down the stairs, and into the cozy kitchen. Hermione propped him into a chair and set about making a fresh pot of tea. It was but the work of a moment before she was seated at the table with him, pouring the amber liquid into fresh mugs. He nodded toward her gratefully and took the cup to warm his hands though the liquid was too hot to drink.

"You asked, 'but what is it?' The room responded to your requirement, as it were. You needed to know exactly the form of your patronus, so it presented you with something that would supply the answer."

"That makes sense, but you seem to think there's some significance to the animal. What am I missing?"

She took a deep breath and sat her tea mug down. After their last conversation that forayed into muggle literature, she desperately wanted to make sure she didn't sound like she was lecturing him. "Do you know the author Rudyard Kipling?"

"No. Should I?"

"Probably not," she answered carefully. "He's muggle." Hermione faltered. She knew full well that Draco had probably had enough muggle-weirdness for the day. But, she didn't know if she had any better explanation. He sighed but waved a hand at her to continue. "He was born in India when it was still an occupied British territory. As a writer, he became noted for his stories about India and British imperialism. His most famous work is probably _The Jungle Book_. Within it is a short story about a mongoose that is adopted as a sort of pet by an English family living in an Indian village. There are two cobras in the village that are put out by the family's presence and attempt to attack and hurt them. The mongoose fights with the cobras, ultimately killing them and the clutch of eggs that are buried in the yard. From then on, the mongoose protects the family." By the time she finished, she was staring into her tea. It was difficult to hold her posture still and not raise her voice. Not wanting a repeat of the last time, she forced herself to remain motionless until he spoke.

"That sounds like a great story, but what does it have to do with my patronus?"

"Well," turning in her seat slightly to look him in the eyes. "In the wild, mongooses are known for attacking venomous snakes like cobras and black mambas. In Kipling's story, the two snakes are named Nag and Nagaina."

"Nagini…" the name was nearly silent yet it hung between them. She only nodded her head in agreement.

"Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but it can't be a coincidence that you, Prince of Slytherin House, conjure a patronus of an animal that is specifically known to kill and eat poisonous snakes. The very animal that adorns your house crest in tribute to a wizard widely known as a parselmouth."

"I'm not sure how much more I can take."

"Hey, I know it feels like a lot, but you don't have to do this alone. I'm here to help shoulder anything I can, and I'm sure Professor Snape feels the same way. You're the closest thing he has to a son, and he knows better than anyone the position you're now in as a double agent. And besides, how many Deatheaters can conjure a full bodied, corporeal patronus?"

Draco's brows knitted together and his eyes drifted to his righthand line of sight. It was two full minutes before he returned his attention to Hermione to answer her question. "If I had to guess, I'd say very few. I won't speak in absolutes because there's bound to be one or two. I don't know much of the magical theory, but it appears that to cast the charm, you need to draw on positive feelings. It does not require those feelings to be about goodness or a kind of purity. Most of the Deatheaters I know have no problem feeling good about torturing and hurting other people. But the real question isn't whether or not they can conjure one, it's what purpose would a Deatheater have to cast a patronus charm if they're feeding the magic a patronus counteracts?"

"That's brilliant!" she exclaimed. "Finally, someone I can talk sense with! That's exactly the kind of question that could lead us to productive conversation about how to effectively win this war." She was positively beaming at Draco. It was nearly impossible to have these kinds of conversations with the boys. Harry sometimes feigned interest, but Ron usually insulted her and skulked away. Occasionally, she could track down Luna, who as a Ravenclaw was well-equipped for theoretical discussion, but became quickly frustrated when her friend would defer the conversation to some unknown, unseen creature. Most of the time, it was her and a book.

"We might want to ask Professor Snape about the implications of Deatheaters using patronus magic. I'd also like to check the arithmancy and see if any changes have happened to the projections."

"I know you said you wanted to just take the day and be together, but it sounds like we have some work to do. Am I right?" She nodded and smiled warmly, reaching for one of his hands across the table, the heat from the mugs of tea long gone.

"I'll look forward to the time when we don't have so much work to do." She left it at that. Neither one of them was momentarily willing to face the very real possibility that one or both of them wouldn't survive the coming battles. "I'll just pack my things and we can go. Or maybe you want to go now and take a similar route back down to the dungeons. It probably wouldn't hurt to put in a little face-time with the right people."

"Ugh." The grunt that left his mouth conveyed all of the distaste and disgust for the idea, but he elaborated anyway. "I know you're right, but I don't know if I can face Crabbe and Goyle just now. They were annoying before, but now they're intolerable."

"In the grand scheme of things, they're not the ones to look out for. Not the sharpest tools in the shed for sure, I think they'll just go with things like they always have. No, I think the person to worry about is Pansy. After all, she's probably the one who not only knows you best, but also has the most incentive to spot any changes in you."

He shifted in his seat and diverted his gaze to the floor. "I'm sure you're right about that." A long minute stretched between them.

"What?" she asked. She didn't want to be that woman. They had only just gotten together over the weekend; she knew that Draco and Pansy had had a _thing_. But, the jealousy was starting to color her cheeks green, she was sure of it. And! She didn't want to know. Not really. But she couldn't stop herself from asking the damning question.

"Pansy doesn't know it, but she dodged an Unforgivable when she wasn't put forward for service. With the exception of Aunt Bella—and only because she's batshit crazy—the women Deatheaters aren't respected or well-treated. We're not friends exactly, but I'd like to keep her out of it as much as possible. Then again, she'd sell me down the river faster than you can say _morsmordre_."

"That sounds reasonable to me." Although, Hermione knew that there was more to say on the subject of Pansy Parkinson, she let it drop. She didn't really want to know. Instead she tidied the tea things away just as she would if she was truly at home. Everything went back in its place and she repacked the satchel with the biscuit and tea tins. As she stood at the sink washing the mugs, Draco came to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Thank you for giving me this," he breathed. Pressing her cheek into her shoulder she smiled.

"I'm just sorry you didn't get to properly explore the house. There are so many muggle things I'd like to show you."

"We can come back another time. Maybe sneak over here in the middle of the night."

"Draco Malfoy, are you trying to get us detention?"

"You only get detention if you get caught." He kissed her neck and released his hold on her. The dishes were drying the in the rack next to the sink and there was nothing left to do but leave and go play their parts.

They went back down the hall, and Draco once more scrutinized the family photos that hang there, this time seeing Hermione's age regress with each picture. The front door loomed in front of them and he took another glance down the hallway, as well as a second look at the bulky, confused piece of furniture next to the door. "You first," she said. "It makes sense since you'll go down to the sixth floor. I'm going to Head to Gryffindor Tower and see what I can find out to add to the runes."

"Good plan. See you late tonight?" Toeing the ground, she decided he looked cute when he was nervous.

"Your room or mine?"

"Let's stay in mine this time. You can bring along the extra contraception potion for my stores."

"Don't start the kind of talk or we're not leaving this Room."

"Would that be such a bad thing?"

"Never," and she advanced to put her arms purposefully around his neck. Their lips touched and the crackle and spark of desire was immediately felt. Just as Draco's hand drifted from her waist to palm her breast, the room violently shook and the very façade of the Granger hallway disappeared. A moment more and the pair discovered they were in a very cramped broom closet. Hermione burst into peals of laughter. "It appears we've worn out our welcome," she snorted through the giggles.

"So it would seem." He smiled as he palmed the side of her face and reached for the brass latch on the door.


	31. Chapter 31

_A/N I realize it's been months since I updated. This was another one of those transition chapters that didn't seem to come out quite right. I started and stopped a dozen times before things began to come together. Additionally, writing has become a nightmare instead of a safe place these last few months as I've struggled to complete my dissertation. Even fiction writing caused me anxiety, and so I put it aside until I could come back to it. The good news is that things are finally starting to feel right again. Thank you to the readers who continue to favorite, comment, and message me. They spur me to continue to add to the tale and see it to its fruition. Cheers._

_Everything recognizable belongs to JK Rowling; I'm just working through some stuff._

She waited another minute inside the newly minted broom cupboard before making her exit toward Gryffindor Tower. At the first landing she encountered, Hermione's stomach rumbled loudly, protesting the lack of food it had been given recently. While she had really eaten double breakfast, between the bouts of heated sex and the heart-stopping intensity of Draco's discovery of his patronus, she was feeling ravenous. Although the lunch hour was waning, she decided to go straight down to the Great Hall rather than the common room. By the time she reached the stairs of the fourth floor, she practically ran to the fireplace located at the end of a seemingly endless hallway. Hermione's hunger was getting the better of her, and she felt a small misuse of the intrafloo network was permissible.

The leather pouch she kept her floo powder in fumbled between her fingers. "Great Hall!" Flashing green, it was just a second before the entranceway loomed in her view. The smell that permeated the air drew her into the hall, and she didn't bother to survey the tables to see who was about. Instead, she sat at the empty end of the Ravenclaw table and messily piled a heaping helping of spaghetti on her plate. As she was merrily chewing her second bite, Harry's voice intruded on her gustatory bliss. "Oi! Hermione! I'm glad you're here. I've been meaning to speak with you."

It would've been so easy to snap at him, but she focused on the food in her mouth, chewing until there was nothing left before she looked up from the plate. Harry was standing by the bench on the opposite side of the table looking exasperated yet excited. That was a change. She wiped her mouth with the serviette and then spoke. "I'll be glad to listen, but would you mind if I ate some of my lunch first? I haven't had a thing all day and I'm truthfully feeling a little woozy." It was a white lie, but it would buy her some extra time to think.

"Absolutely fine. Do you mind if I sit?"

"Please." Hermione unceremoniously tucked into her food, scooping the red-stained pasta onto a piece of garlic toast. She knew she managed to splodge a healthy portion on her cheek but found she was too hungry to care. The hearty, comforting spaghetti was a balm to her well-being she hadn't known she needed. It wasn't until she cleared more than half of her plate and eaten two pieces of bread that she felt herself come back to center. Pausing to pour a glass of pumpkin juice, she finally spoke to Harry. "Isn't it strange how something like hunger doesn't seem to bother you when your mind is focused elsewhere? I was just on my way to the common room after a morning of work when I suddenly felt famished. The last thing I need is to land myself in the infirmary. Fat lot of good that would do us!"

"I know what you mean, though I don't usually miss meals because I'm working. Truthfully, I skip them because I can barely keep anything down."

"I've noticed," Hermione said quietly. "Your glamours have gotten quite good, but you're thinner than you've ever been."

"I've been such a prat. I know I apologized to you in Dumbledore's office, but I want to do it again—without the prodding. I've been a terrible leader and a worse friend, and you especially haven't deserved all the shit I've put you through. You and Ron are my family, my closest family, and I want to put it right. From now on, everybody's in the loop. No more acting like a firstie, because in the end the only things that matter are our commitments to each other."

That was the most honest thing Harry had said to her in months. When he had apologized in the office, it was stilted and not quite genuine. There was still a lot of resistance in him. And somewhere between then and now, something had gotten through to him. She watched him for a moment, and the longer the silence stretched between them his body began to twitch and jump with nervousness. His eyes particularly moved fitfully back and forth, occasionally landing on something at another table. Following his line of sight, she twisted in her seat only to make eye contact with Padma Patil.

Not something. Someone. There was only one reason that Harry would continually seek out her gaze. For some reason he had confided in her and was looking to her for reassurance. Not wanting to make things uncomfortable for Padma and putting an end to Harry's clear discomfort, she smiled wide at the Ravenclaw and turned back around. "Apology accepted. And about bloody time. We have work to do!" She beamed at Harry, and he exhaled a relieved sigh before returning her smile.

"You're absolutely right," he replied and wasted no time forging ahead. "What was it about your Arithmancy project you were trying to explain earlier?"

"I've been using it to predict the movement of the war, adding more personal details about the student players than professional Arithmancers could know. Just this week, there have been some significant changes to the probabilities." His face scrunched in concentration, clearly not understanding even her broad explanation for her work.

"It sounds like you've got something there, but you know me, all fingers and thumbs when it comes to runes and maths. I…" Abruptly, he closed his mouth, hesitancy in the hard line that his lips formed. "I've been speaking to Padma today," he began slowly. "Maybe she could help you with the project?" His eyes searched her face, as his features looked expectant yet concerned.

At the moment, she couldn't allow Padma to see the graphs. It would expose her and Draco, and she wasn't willing to risk them yet. Besides, it was imperative that Harry still treated Draco like an enemy so that the Dark Lord would believe his memories during _legilimancy_. She began gently. "Professor Dumbledore has already asked me to work more closely with Professor Vector to expand the scope of the work." Harry's face fell, and she quickly continued in hopes of reassuring him that she wasn't adverse to Padma becoming more integral to their plans. After all, Hermione had seen the equations; she knew that there was a strong probability for her becoming closer with Harry. "I think Padma's skills might be better used in helping you familiarize yourself with the magic of prophecies and long-term enchantments. Her history of spells knowledge is pretty extensive."

"Funny you should say that. Earlier today, we talked about different interpretations of Trelawny's prophecy. I don't know why I was shocked she could repeat it line for line."

"Me either." They smiled at each other, clearly making a fair bit of progress toward healing their injured friendship. But, there was work to be done and with such sensitive subjects at hand, it was important that every precaution was taken. "Harry, I'm all for Padma joining the thick of things, but you realize that if she's going to do that, she's going to have to take the blood oath. We can't afford any security breaches, especially ones we could have prevented. Did you consider that maybe she won't want that? It's a big deal taking a blood oath." His face was an open book. It had never crossed his mind.

Platters were disappearing from the house tables, indicating that lunch had come to a close. Bowls filled with fresh fruits assumed the place of desserts so students could take a healthy snack. It was the perfect cue for Hermione. "Let's see what she has to say about it." Harry nodded his agreement and they rose from the benches to go meet with Padma at the Gryffindor table. She sat alone, meaning that her twin had left the Great Hall a bit ago; clearly she stuck around to watch the interaction between them. "Hey, Padma," she greeted the Ravenclaw cheerily. "Harry says you've got some solid interpretations of the prophecy."

"Well, I don't know about solid, but I feel the working theory is plausible."

"That's more progress than we've made. I would really like to hear all about your ideas. Care to join me in the library?"

"Absolutely. I was headed there anyway to work on my advanced herbology essay." The two witches exchanged knowing smiles as they often saw each other in the library, offering a little wave and conspiratorial grin as they headed for their respective study areas.

Just as Padma threw her leg over the long bench to get up from her seat, Ron's voiced boomed through the center of the table. "Hey, looks like you're having a party!" he shouted joyfully. "You forgot to invite the Life for it!" He and Luna joined the group, and Hermione couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of his joke.

"Well, if you call going to library to talk strategy about the prophecy a party, then you're right on the money," replied Harry. He was smiling but maintained the seriousness that tempered their conversation.

"Aw, that's no fun. Me and Luna just played chess in the subdungeons. You know, on THE board. It was incredible. And a lot less scary than the first go round. How about we go play an epic game of exploding snap in the courtyard?"

Before Harry could turn him down, Luna interjected. Her calm, serene voice automatically changing the tone of the conversation. "I've also been thinking about the prophecy. _And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives_," she repeated expertly. "What if the consequence of killing Voldemort is immortality? If there is no confrontation, no Final Battle, then you're locked in a holding pattern of sorts. Marked for death as it were. But should you kill him, or he you, you might discover some kind of transference of life-force or energies that could make you potentially live forever. And if not forever, then perhaps the years that either of you might have had for your natural lives."

It was not a possibility Hermione had considered, but hearing Luna's cursory theory was absolutely chilling. Witches and wizards lived decades longer than average human beings. It was disturbing to think that even with the extra time, there might come a day when everyone Harry knew or loved would be dead, and he would go on without knowing if one day he too would leave this world. As for Voldemort, the idea of an eternal Dark Lord was almost more than she could stomach. Surely the magical way of life would not, could not sustain if he came to power with that kind of time on his hands.

"Luna!" Ron admonished. "How can you even think such a thing?"

"Quite easily," she replied. "After all, Harry's already experienced some of this power transfer. His parselmouth abilities are a direct result, one might argue, from his first encounter with Voldemort. It's not really a stretch to think that if Harry should kill him, then there will be a further transfer." Harry looked positively green after Luna's latest revelation. Before the conversation progressed, they needed to find a more secluded place where they could speak freely.

Padma was on the same page as she spoke up. "There's a Ravenclaw study lounge just down the main corridor from here. Perhaps we should adjourn there instead of the library."

"I think that's an excellent idea," Hermione chimed. Her eyes darted around the Great Hall. It was largely empty now, but more privacy would not go amiss. "Shall we go?" Everyone, well everyone except Ron, seemed eager to get on with things. True to form, Luna didn't wait for anyone to verbally agree; she simply turned and headed in the appropriate direction. Following her cue, they followed in an almost single file line. Only Ron remained standing next to the Ravenclaw table, looking surprised and hurt that his friends had gone ahead. She heard rather than saw Harry double back for Ron. "Come on," he started gently. "We'll play a round of Snap after were done." The rest of their brief conversation was muffled, but Ron rejoined the group.

Luna had already opened the door for the study room, which was mercifully empty. As Head Girl she had the authority to ask students to find other places to go, but it would've been bad form and without provocation in this instance. She was glad she didn't have to bend more rules at the minute. They arranged themselves in the plush chairs, bronze and navy velvet fabrics covered them, making them both comfortable and warm. After her hastily devoured lunch and the weight of the momentary conversation, she felt a nap was in order at the earliest convenience. The equations could wait an hour.

In her usual fashion, she began the process of calling the informal meeting to order. "It's good that we're all able to sit down and start to work out some firmer plans. Perhaps we should call for Ginny and Neville, too?" If they were going to have these conversations, then it was important for everyone to be present.

"I've already used the DA Galleon to tell them where we are," Luna said dreamily. "There's been no reply, but if they don't answer in a few minutes, I'll see if Effie might retrieve them."

"Who's Effie?" Harry asked. Hermione could tell that he was wondering if 'Effie' was one of Luna's unseen mysterious creatures.

"The head house elf here at Hogwarts. She's become a close friend in the last few years. We often take tea in the Ravenclaw Common Room in the evenings."

"Yeah," Ron chimed in. "She brought us back to the Great Hall from the chessboard. So, good to know that the house elves can _apparate_ inside the castle… with people and all."

"That's excellent news!" Hermione shouted. She could barely stay in her seat. "If the Final Battle is here, we can ask the house elves if they'll take younger students and anyone injured to safety. We couldn't ask them to fight for us of course, but they could be really valuable in keeping people out of harm's way."

"Agreed, but we should see if they are willing to engage in some combat. House elf magic is powerful and would likely be a surprise to our enemies." Ron had slipped into his tactical mind as easily as though he had pulled on one of Molly's well-worn jumpers. "Most people, and I'd especially bet pureblood wizards who think house elves are beneath them, wouldn't expect them to retaliate."

"Ron's right," Harry chimed. "We should at least speak to them about the coming fight. Give them the option and all. If the Malfoys are anything to judge by, I'll bet some of the elves would just love to get their own back."

Hermione knew Harry was right, but that didn't stop the hairs on her neck from prickling at the mention of Malfoy. Just bubbling in the pit of her stomach, she felt the need to rise to his defense. To fervently explain to the group that maybe the Malfoys, and other families like them, had never known another way, that compassion for other creatures—magical and otherwise—was something that could be taught and shared. Her hands knotted in her lap. She needed to redirect the conversation quickly.

"We already know that Voldemort's recruiting giants and werewolves; Dumbledore has reached out to the centaurs. It makes sense to add the house elves to the mix. In the meantime, let's focus on the interpretations of the prophecy that we started to talk about at lunch. Padma, I'd love to hear your theories on the subject."

She gestured toward Padma who had taken up residence in one of the large, plush chairs near the fireplace. Uncurling her legs from beneath her, Padma sat toward the edge of her seat to become more included with the group. "I've been thinking about the passage concerning power that the Dark Lord doesn't know. It seems to me that Harry and the young Tom Riddle have much in common, but by all accounts Riddle never made friends at Hogwarts. He didn't find people who were readily willing to bring him into their family. Not in the way that Ron's family has. I postulate that Harry's secret weapon is all of you. There are a lot of people who love him, who would and will die for him, for what he represents. No one loves Voldemort."

"Well, maybe Bellatrix LeStrange, but she's mental, so I'm not sure it counts," Ron cracked from his place next to Luna on one of the short love seats. Almost everyone laughed at the joke. Harry had perched on the arm of the chair opposite her. His face was downcast and his hands, whiteknuckled, massaged his knees. Now that Padma had said it, the answer was so simple. The-Boy-Who-Lived would have to become The-Boy-Who-Died. Considering the way he had approached her in the Great Hall, this was a recent revelation for Harry. And, let's face it, not the easiest of things to come to terms with. It was a heavy burden to bear. Maybe it was better that Harry hadn't known the whole time that he was meant to become a martyr.

Something sparked in the back of her mind. If she'd had trouble staying seated before, now things were about to become desperate. Of course Harry wouldn't have known that he was meant to become a sacrifice. They'd only just heard the particulars of the prophecy two years ago when it became crucial to reorganize the Order. All that time… Dumbledore had all that time as the initial receiver of Trelawney's prediction to consider what that would mean for Harry once Voldemort had murdered Lily and James.

While it was clear that Dumbledore was a man with much on his mind, after waking him to explain that Draco had been summoned, his usual façade had slipped significantly. Though none of her friends wanted to admit it, especially Harry, Dumbledore operated as the mastermind for so many organizations and goings-on. Both seen and more often unseen. Like Ron, Dumbledore knew how to strategize. He understood that in order to win, it was sometimes necessary to sacrifice pieces, and a pawn or queen could serve the same purpose in that regard.

Hermione felt sick to her stomach. She tightened her grip on her fingers, now twisting the hem of her shirt roughly to focus some of her frustrated energy. When she glanced toward Harry, he maintained his tight posture and stare toward the floor. Her eyes slid over to Padma and she immediately made eye contact. Her face was somber and after just a brief moment, the Ravenclaw lifted an eyebrow in a silent question. Nodding, Hermione recognized the unspoken knowledge that passed between them. Soon enough the others would either figure it out or be told, but until then this terrible truth would be between the three of them.

The laughter had waned and the five of them sat in contemplative silence. It seemed Hermione's afternoon nap would need to wait as there was much more information to add to the arithmantic equations than some simple tweaking. If she was going to share her findings with Professor Vector on Monday, then she wanted the work to be as complete as possible. Suddenly she was itching to leave the study room and get back to the runes.

"Padma, I think you're exactly right." Now she turned to Harry and looked intently into his dull eyes. "Our bonds as friends, as family, are what set us apart. And it's up to _all_ of us to make them as strong as possible before the battle, which might come sooner than later. That means from now on, no more hiding from each other. We check in with each other; we make the commitment to remember that even when things become difficult, we love each other."

"Well said, Hermione," Luna serenely chirped. "Also, I would suggest that we magically strengthen those bonds are much as possible. We should ask Professor McGonagall to renew our blood oaths, as well as study ancient earth majiks focused on love and family."

"Blood oath? You've taken blood oaths?" The tone of Padma's question was a worried one. Blood oaths were generally considered outdated and dangerous magic to boot. To make a blood oath was nearly as binding as an unbreakable vow, so Padma's concern was well-placed.

"After things went badly at the Department of Mysteries and we were all informed of the prophecy, Dumbledore decided that it was important for each of us to become fully fledged members of the Order of the Phoenix. To make sure each member is fully trustworthy and information remains secure, it was decided—some years ago—that blood oaths were the best way to achieve that end." Now Hermione hesitated. If Padma did not want to make a blood oath, and it was completely understandable if she didn't, then she would need to be cut out from future conversations like this one. As the arithmancy showed, Padma and Harry's lines were projected to become closely intertwined. It would be difficult for that to happen if he couldn't candidly confide in her.

"I'm guessing that if I'm going to be able to offer significant support, then I'll also need to make a blood oath." Harry, for the first time since the discussion about house elves, moved from his perch and squatted down in front of her.

"You don't have to do that. In fact, it's safer for you if you don't. Anything you want to contribute you can tell to any one of us, and you won't have to carry the burden of hearing what's really happening out there."

"I appreciate your concern, Harry, I really do. But, like I said this morning, I know what it means to be marginalized and discriminated against for being different. It's not just about you or the Order or Dumbledore. Voldemort is looking to destroy a whole way of life, and everyone on the side of the Light has a stake in that. It's important to me to help as much and in anyway I can, and I can't do that if I'm excised from more than half of what is happening to you. Besides, I assumed that oaths and other safety measures were in place; it just hadn't occurred to me they would involve blood." She leaned her head closer to Harry's and stage whispered, "I'm a little squeamish around blood." She smiled at her admission, lightening the mood of the room a little. Harry looked awe-struck by what Padma had said.

Hermione couldn't help but feel happy for Harry. He needed someone to keep him humble, to talk things out, and provide some perspective. Things with Ginny had been good at first, but they fought constantly because they were both hot-headed. She loved Ginny, but she had been pleased when she and Harry had split. Padma would be great for him, and it was apparent by the way they continued to hold hands and gaze at each other. Yes, they were gazing.

Ron cleared his throat. "Yeah, yeah, that's very touching. Is there something else we should be talking about? Maybe we can find McGonagall to talk about the oaths. I'd like to spend at least a little time outside today. I mean, if that's okay and all."

For the first time in ages, it was Ron to the rescue. "I agree with Ron. But, I think that we have plenty to think about for today. We can talk to Professor McGonagall tomorrow. I'll request an appointment with her for her office hours."

"Yes, that makes the most sense," said Luna. "Hermione, would you like to join us for some Exploding Snap?"

"Thanks for the invite, but I think I'm going to pass. I'm actually feeling a little tired. It's already been a long day for me." Hermione rose from her chair and cat stretched to workout her back muscles. "Can we regroup tomorrow?"

"Yeah, alright." It was Ron who responded, and for the first time in a long time, she felt that they might be able to salvage their friendship.

"I'm going to head straight back to my room. Luna, can you fill in Ginny and Neville when you run into them? I'm guessing they'll join you in the courtyard for the game."

"Sure thing."

"Welcome to the club, Padma. We're glad to have you."

"Do we get ID cards and a secret handshake?"

Harry answered her. "Nah, we aren't that organized. It's mostly passwords and secret keeping."

"Good to know."

Ron and Luna had quietly slipped from the room, and now she followed them. As the door to the Ravenclaw study room clicked shut, fatigue took over. The hallway was largely empty and after a cursory glance, Hermione decided that one more small infraction was acceptable. It only took a second to retrieve the pinch of floo powder she needed. "Head Girl's Room!"

Stepping into her familiar room, she dropped her backpack, still filled with the tins of tea and biscuits from the morning's excursion to the Room of Requirement. Unceremoniously, she stripped off her clothes as she made her way to the bedroom and flopped onto the fluffy duvet. It was a matter of minutes before she was snoring softly.


	32. Chapter 32

A/N Thank you for the recent reviews and continued support. I persevere in all my writing endeavors and again feel buoyed by writing this story. Enjoy!

All recognizable characters, settings, and plots belong to JKRowling; I'm just getting my creative writing on…

It had been an eventful day for Draco. As he walked the corridors of Hogwarts, slowly making his way back toward the dungeons and Head Boy's Room, he thought of Hermione's "house." He'd never set foot in any part of Muggle London or Muggle England for that matter, and up until three days ago the idea of being in a muggle house was laughably offensive. Of course they had remained in Hogwarts, but it was clear to Hermione that the castle's facsimile had been nearly as good as her actual home. The whole thing had initially been overwhelming. Privately, he could admit that it was a little frightening.

His first impression was less than favorable. The décor was cluttered and dated looking. The wallpaper faded and hideous. The entryway felt claustrophobic. In comparison with the manor, it was a hovel. Of course, Draco had never seen a hovel but really anything less than the manor was like living in squalor by Malfoy family standards. But Hermione was absolutely bursting with joy, and he didn't want to spoil her happiness with his prejudice. He understood that most people didn't live as he did when he was at home. Most people didn't have a villa in Wizarding France as a second home. No, most people had one home just big enough to accommodate their life, enough rooms for all the people to sleep, a kitchen, and some living area. And it was clear that Hermione was proud of what was her "home" as she bounced animatedly in the hallway.

Draco was proud of the way he mentally sidestepped is discomfort and opened himself to the experience. He wanted to know everything about Hermione and understanding her muggle upbringing was an important aspect of her. Watching her make tea in the kitchen was a calming, reassuring moment. Her actions were so familiar although he'd never watched her make tea before. He had, however, watched her plenty in potions class. She was always very methodical about preparing the cauldron, measuring ingredients, allowing them to steep for an optimum brew.

On a number of occasions he had watched Severus prepare tea for the evenings they would play wizard's chess. Preferring his own to the kitchens, Severus always made a point of reminding him that there were some things that were better left to sure and practiced hands. The house elves knew food, but tea was something he had an implicit knowledge of as a Potions Master. Severus always insisted that while they might start their sessions with a drop of fire whisky, they end with tea. Somehow the amber liquid always soothed his bruised ego as he gracefully accepted his inevitable defeat. He had yet to be beat him in a chess match.

Hermione's tea had likewise soothed him after the somewhat disturbing revelation of his patronus form. When the little creature had initially sprung forward, he couldn't help but drop his wand out of shock. All he needed was for his magic to reflect what had been one of the most horrific experiences of his life. When he was transfigured, he maintained his rational human mind, though he also had recognized the intrusion of the instinctual animal mind that he shared space with in that body. The rapid tossing and dropping, up and down, had made his small stomach clench with sickness. His little heart had pounded at an incredible speed, and he mentally chanted the word 'Stop' over and over again until the world swirled in a mass of color and perspective. He only managed to run a few meters before he vomited into a bush that hedged the castle.

Now as he was on the final staircase to the dungeons and the sanctuary of his room, it occurred to him that the house elves he had levitated and pitched across the lawns and into the trees on the manor's grounds must have felt much the same. Shame once again washed through him; he had freed Timple but there were others who had suffered at his stupid, cruel hands. Mentally noting to offer aid when he could to the elves, he breathed a sigh of relief as he turned the corner and saw the door to the Head Boy's room. Vincent Mochecure, the Slytherin who inhabited that painting and guarded his door, sneered as he saw Draco approach. His arms crossed tightly across his chest, and he lifted his head in a haughty manner. "You know," Vincent spat, "when I was Head Boy, I didn't dawdle in the castle on a Sunday afternoon. I was on the quidditch pitch making sure that every bugger who dared go near my rings never got the chance to score."

"Maybe in your day, the Head Boy didn't have as many responsibilities as I do," Draco retorted. He was about to say his password, when he felt a hand clamp down on his right shoulder.

"Where have you been all day?" a familiar and grating voice asked. He sucked in a silent breath, composing himself to bored neutrality before he turned to face Pansy.

"Around," he answered non-committally . Pansy's eyebrow immediately arched in a further question. Although they were already close, she took another half step forward. The buttons of her shirt skittered across the fabric of his own, the heat from her body seeping into his. He wanted to step away, to run into the safety of his room, but he stayed put and went through the motions. It would be easier than trying to placate her later.

As they silently stood there, he could feel her chest brush his with each of the measured breaths she took. After two inhalations, the look in her eyes changed from questioning to suspicion. Her third breath was deep and she leaned closer to him as she did so, never taking her eyes away from his. Malice and anger erupted in her eyes. Her pinched face further shriveled as she hissed, "Who is she?" The fury in her voice was barely contained.

His mind reeled. It had never occurred to him to cast a freshening charm when he left the Room of Requirement. So much had happened on an emotional level, he hadn't given a thought to the possibility that he still smelled like sex. Like Hermione. The undeniable salty-sweet sweaty tang that clung to the body just after intense sex tended to linger, and though it was hours later Pansy had somehow detected it.

"Who?" He played dumb.

"The slag you've been with." Swiping her head quickly from left to right, it was clear she was surveying the hallway to assess their privacy. Her eyes were seething.

He felt himself slip into "indignant, self-righteous Malfoy" like a well-worn pair of shoes. Taking a step back from her to make a sizable gap between their bodies, Draco drew himself to his full height. "Pansy, I have better things to do with my time. Maybe you should redirect your misplaced female jealousy to something more productive." For added effect, he bent at the waist and drew his mouth closely to her right ear and whispered, "And don't think I haven't known about your dalliance with Bletchley for some time now. Then again I have more important concerns than the _slags_ my teammates fuck." His body pivoted away from her and a snide glare filled his features while hers were quickly overtaken with wide-eyed shock. Clearly she hadn't thought that he had known. Unfortunately, he knew in detail as Bletchley was a first rate braggart in the quidditch locker room when it came to his sexual conquests.

It hadn't mattered to him though. Pansy was an excellent distraction on the nights when he needed it, but there was nothing more between them than sex and unending mistrust. While he felt no romantic attachments to her, he also didn't want to see her hurt and abused in her pursuit to join the ranks of the Death Eaters. He had been hoping to help keep her shunted to the periphery of the war without letting her know he had done so, but she was becoming more vehement in her involvement. And this little exchange just ramped up her dangerous factor considerably. Draco knew that he had lit a fire that would be difficult to put out. He would need to inform Severus.

And probably Hermione, too.

Pansy admirably tried to keep her emotions in check, school her face so that she could walk away with dignity. But it was a lost cause. Her eyes had welled with tears and her lips began to quiver. He drove the final nail as he crossed his arms and facially dared her to deny it. Unable to recover and fire back at him, she ran down the hallway toward the common room and likely her dormitory. She would lick her wounds and then plot revenge. He knew it as a certainty because it's what he had done in the early hours of Friday morning. Except his plans for revenge went right out the window with the mist from the _spiritus de la luna_.

Without turning to look at Vincent in his portrait, Draco barked his password—_in dormis draconis_—and waited for the door to swing open. It was his misfortunate that the keeper of the Head Boy's room was verbally combative and stubborn to open the door if he engaged with him. Sometimes it was just easier to issue the command, and that was exactly what was necessary at the moment. He needed time to himself, to think, and as ridiculous as it sounded with everything that was happening in the world, to do his herbology essay.

Safely inside, he went straight to the fireplace and ordered some food and a pot of tea. That done, he fell heavily into the padded sofa, sighing deeply as the weight of his body sunk into the overstuffed cushions. He had just closed his eyes when he heard the telltale soft pop of the house elf delivering his meal. The elf had set up the tray not far from him and carefully met his eye. "Thank you," said Draco. Though the elf's eyes grew wide, he said nothing in reply, instead offering a curt bow before disappearing. The food smelled divine, and his stomach rumbled in a noisy agreement.

Draco hadn't realized just how hungry he was until he started eating. The spaghetti was delicious and soon the plate was cleared twice over. He waited to pour the tea until after he was finished with his food so that it would remain hot. The amber liquid slid elegantly into the mug. When it was full, he held it closely to his face, allowing the steam to bathe his checks in comforting warmth. There were a million things to think about, a dozen things he could do in that moment. He knew he needed to update Severus about the situation with Pansy. He needed to work on his Occlumency skills. He needed to figure out how to continue to make Potter miserable without giving away his cover. He needed to figure out inconspicuous ways of contacting Hermione when he couldn't be with her. Just in case… The list went on.

For once, he opted to turn a blind eye to those other important matters and give himself the license to return to something familiar and mundane. The herbology essay. Gathering the teapot and mug, he made his way to his desk already laden with the materials he would need. The advanced herbology book had seen better days as the course, like potions, was about practical applications. It had survived being dropped in piles of manured soil and soaking by the preset sprinklers. While he understood that his father had mapped the road of his life already, predetermining he would go into business and politics, if he'd had his choice he would've chosen to become a Potions Master. Some of that desire was certainly to do with Severus, but it also was because Draco had an aptitude for both subjects which were heavily related. Many potioneers insisted on growing and collecting their own specimens or ingredients. It was one of the ways to ensure strict quality control and consistency in brewing.

In herbology class, it wouldn't do for him to overplay his competency. After all, amongst his peers, people who dug in the dirt for a living weren't on the same level as the rest of them. That was Hufflepuff work. But he was attentive and although he didn't often demonstrate his knowledge during class, Madame Sprout consistently praised his essays and classwork for his thoroughness. Keeping a solid foundation in herbology meant that he was significantly better in potions than many of his classmates because he understood the plant ingredients' characteristics. Even Hermione, who was an excellent brewer, told him that he was the best in the class (next to her of course!).

He smiled as he thought of her comment from earlier in the day. Since first year, he had been competing with her for top grades at Hogwarts. Most people assumed that the Ravenclaws always took top honors, and that was sometimes true, but he and Hermione had been neck in neck for that title since First Year. During his meeting with Severus on Friday evening, he had unfortunately revisited the memory of his father dragging him through the manor by his ear. Severus had done a good job in healing it and the scar was in the crease where the ear met his face so it was hardly noticeable. He hadn't needed his father's "encouragement" to try to beat Hermione. She was all the things he had been groomed to despise. He worked doubly hard after that however.

No matter how much he tried, she managed to edge him out in nearly every class. Always in transfiguration and history of magic and arithmancy. About seventy thirty in potions and herbology. He might've accused her of cheating, but the protections put on the O.W.L.s made it impossible to cheat. Her brain was a sponge that seemed to never run out of space.

An hour later, Draco had written four solid paragraphs on the parchment about propagation techniques for aquatic plants. Satisfied that it would do until he could add more and edit the next day, he called it quits and hauled himself away from the desk. When he reached the bedroom, he stripped out of his weekend clothes, letting the fall to the floor by the bedside. The flicker of the memory from the morning when he had viciously attacked Hermione rocketed through his mind, and he audibly groaned at the thought of what might have happened. Not wanting a repeat of that, he retrieved his wand from his pants pocket and quickly placed an alarm charm to alert him if someone came through the floo. He had invited her to stay in his room that night but wasn't sure when she would come around. This way the alarm would let him know when she arrived.

As he snuggled under the lush duvet, he drifted to sleep with that faint taste of caramel on his tongue and the vision of eyes the color of strongly brewed tea in his mind's eye.


End file.
